The olive came and brought sweet-smelling oil, with which to rub the Christchild’s little limbs; and the pine tree saw her and ached so for something to give that the resin stood out in big drops along his stem. “Oh!” he cried joyfully, “I, too, have oil to give.” And Mother Mary’s smile was very tender as she shook her head again and said gently, “But your drops are sticky, and they would hurt His tender skin, dear little pine.” So the little pine was very unhappy because it had nothing to offer the Christchild. And year by year as he grew taller, and remembered the Holy Night, the wind swept through his branches with a sound that was almost a moan; and ever since you can hear that sound from pine trees all the world over. Now for hundreds of years after, on each Christmas Eve, the Christchild comes again, in the likeness of a poor child, gathering fallen sticks in the forest. Up and down the hills He goes, shivering in the icy cold, knocking at every door, whether it is of a cabin or a castle, until He finds some one who, remembering His lesson of love, calls Him in to find warmth and shelter; and such a home He blesses. Some there are who, like the pine tree, long to serve Him, and these place a candle in the window, that if He pass along their way, He may see it and come in. But one night there was no door open and as He walked wearily through the pine wood the wind shrieked through the trees bending before Him. Then the Christchild turned aside and crept under the low branches of a pine tree, which was large enough now to shelter Him; and the moss lifted itself from the snow to make a soft bed for the tired Child. And the pine tree, drawing its branches close above Him, was so happy that tears of joy ran down his branches and freezing, hung in slender icicles. And as the first red rays of the sun on Christmas morning shone upon them they glittered like the candles on your Christmas tree, and the Christchild opened His eyes and smiled. A Birthday Gift What can I give Him, Poor as I am? If I were a shepherd I would bring a lamb, If I were a Wise Man I would do my part, Yet what I can give Him,— Give my heart. [Illustration: Decoration] [Illustration: _Hunt_ THE TRIUMPH OF THE INNOCENTS] The Christmas Fire in Servia