“All the animals knew perfectly well that the holiday had come, and kept it in their way. The watch-dog was unchained. In the midnight hour on the Holy Eve the cattle stood up in their stalls and bowed out of respect and reverence for Him who was laid in a manger when there was no room in the inn, and in that hour speech was given them, and they talked together. Claus, our neighbor’s man, had seen and heard it, and every Christmas Eve I meant fully to go and be there when it happened; but always long before that I had been led away to bed, a very sleepy boy, with all my toys hugged tight, and when I woke up the daylight shone through the frosted window-panes, and they were blowing good morning from the church tower; it would be a whole year before another Christmas. So I vowed, with a sigh at having neglected a really sacred observance, that I would be there sure on the next Christmas Eve. But it was always so, every year, and perhaps it was just as well, for Claus said that it might go ill with the one who listened, if the cows found him out.” In the older parts of Montenegro, the head of the family and his shepherd boy still follow the quaint old custom of lighting the animals to their stalls on Christmas Eve. Each takes a lighted wax candle and they go together into every stall in turn, holding the candles for a moment in each of its corners. Then, at the stable door they take stand, one at each side of it, and hold their candles high while the little shepherdess drives the animals in. One by one, sheep, goats, and oxen, they pass between the flickering lights. After that, the shepherd boy and the little shepherdess kiss each other “that the cattle may live in peace and love,” they say. [Illustration: Decoration] [Illustration: Deer] Good King Wenceslas Good King Wenceslas looked out On the Feast of Stephen, When the snow lay round about, Deep, and crisp, and even. Brightly shone the moon that night, Though the frost was cruel, When a poor man came in sight, Gath’ring winter fuel. “Hither, page, and stand by me, If thou know’st it telling, Yonder peasant, who is he? Where and what his dwelling?” “Sire, he lives a good league hence, Underneath the mountain; Right against the forest fence, By St. Agnes’ fountain.” “Bring me flesh, and bring me wine, Bring me pine logs hither; Thou and I will see him dine, When we bear them thither.” Page and monarch forth they went, Forth they went together; Through the rude wind’s wild lament, And the bitter weather. “Sire, the night is darker now, And the wind blows stronger; Fails my heart, I know not how, I can go no longer.” “Mark my footsteps, good my page! Tread thou in them boldly; Thou shalt find the winter’s rage Freeze thy blood less coldly.”