And he knocked at Baby's door and entered, the little Stars of Bethlehem shining white about him, as he went. 49 Then after about a bit he came downstairs smiling, the basket empty now, only for the bulrushes that had lined it. And he came out to where Tiny was holding his white cob, and said, "Ha, my boy!--what d'you think I've brought for you?" Then Tiny trembled and said, "What, Sir?" So the good old doctor answered, "Go to Baby's room; and you'll see." And he climbed on to his cob, and jogged away, chuckling. And the kitten walked after him down the drive with its tail up tight. 50 Then Tiny came to Baby's door and knocked. But there came no answer. So he went in. And within all was still and twilight. [Illustration: WITHIN ALL WAS STILL AND TWILIGHT] And the only light came from the Stars of Bethlehem strewn about the floor. And in the middle of these kneeled Baby, rocking to and fro with something in her arms. And when Tiny came in, she looked up; and he could see her eyes shining in the dusk. Then Tiny came to her upon his toes, and kneeled beside her. And he laid his lips to her ear, and whispered, "Mother." Then they kissed each other and It. AMEN [Illustration: Chapter VIII Tailpiece] ON THE STORY THAT GOES ON FOR EVER So this story ends the same as all other stories that ever were written, and that is happily. And really there is only one Story, and it is the best Story in the world; but it is not finished yet, and never will be. And this Story grows better and better all the time, which is how we know it from the written stories that we read. But it is told in bits, so that unless we're sort of in the secret, we may mistake it for a lot of little stories, all separate, and all telling against each other. Yet all the little bits fit in together at the end most perfectly; and not one word is wasted, although it seems as if there would be thousands; to say nothing of bad spellings, and erasures, and great blots of ink and tears. And it is the same end always, and always a happy end. For no story really ends sadly for the very good reason that it can't. For Love is Love, and in the end end of all Love must win. So after we have finished our bit of the Story, and our friends have read it, and scribbled on the blank space at the bottom, THE END: HE WAS A SINNER-- And after they have whispered about us in public, and the ladies have gone behind their handkerchieves, and said, "We must hope for the best, and expect the worst," and the men have yawned and said, "Ah, well--De mortuis nil nisi bonum," which means--"He was the Devil's darling from his youth up, and I always told you so." We need not mind so very much; for it may be that we have done better than we thought; and it is certain that while the world knows nothing of our aim, of our failure it knows more than all. Moreover let us remember to our comfort that after that dead END,