What a most convenient thing it is that good St. Nicholas does not have to keep the Christmas holiday in all the world at once! He has been the children’s own saint, you know, ever since he ceased to be a bishop in far-away Asia Minor. The oldest story we hear of him is that once three little boys on their way to school at Athens stopped over night at an inn, of which the innkeeper was also a butcher, and a robber besides. This wicked man killed the boys in the night and threw their bodies into his salting tub. But the very next morning the saint walked in and asked for them, for though he was only Bishop Nicholas then, he knew all about it in some wonderful way. The trembling butcher took him out to the pork barrel; the saint struck the edge of it sharply with his staff and called the boys by name. Out jumped the three little pickles all alive, and of course the wicked butcher was punished and Nicholas became the school-boys’ saint. There is also a story that one night Bishop Nicholas wished to carry a purse of gold to a worthy nobleman who was so proud and so unwilling to have his poverty noticed that it was a difficult matter to make the gift without hurting his feelings. When the house was reached the old noble was to be seen through the window fast asleep by the fire, and without disturbing him good St. Nicholas climbed to the top of the wide chimney and dropped the purse, intending it to fall on the hearth. But as the old man’s daughter had hung her father’s stockings by the fire to dry, it chanced to fall into one of them. There it was found the next day and most opportunely provided a marriage portion for the oldest daughter. The story goes on to say that after that whenever one of the noble’s daughters was of marrying age he hung up a stocking,—and St. Nicholas’s gift was never lacking. They say that all this happened early in December, and in some countries December 6 is the great day for the children. In Holland, on St. Nicholas Eve, December 5, the children go out with their parents to see the brilliantly decorated shops, and in the doorways of many of them stands the saint, gorgeously dressed and handing to every child who passes a tiny toy or a sweet. No wonder the good saint must needs go to the seashore for a day before his next heavy job of being Santa Claus to all America on the twenty-fifth,—to say nothing of merry England! At any rate, we find that in a certain seaport of southern Italy it is the sailors’ custom on December 6 to take the image of the saint from the beautiful church of St. Nicholas and, with a long procession of boats, carry it far out to sea. Toward nightfall they return and in the glory of the gold and crimson sunset are met on landing by all the townspeople. Hundreds of quaintly dressed pilgrims from the country round join the crowd that welcomes the home-coming saint with songs, bonfires, and torches, and brings him back to his own place. [Illustration: