"It comes," cried the Prince, delighted, as he looked in. "Yes, it's made," replied Krueger. "But now comes other work. The butter must be taken out and washed, if it please your Highness?" "No," said the Prince, doubtfully, "that will never do. But the machine is good; bring me a spoon and some white bread, I will fish out what I can; one must learn to help one's self." The Prince plunged his spoon into the mess, took out some of the half-made butter, and spread it on his white bread with a feeling of satisfaction that was quite new to him. "It tastes a little sour, Krueger," he said. "Of course," replied Krueger; "the butter-milk is still in it." "It does not matter," said the Prince, consoling himself. "Krueger, I did not think there was so much to be attended to in churning." "Yes, all things are difficult in the beginning," replied Krueger, cheerfully. "It is all right," concluded the Prince, graciously; "take the machine out, and clean it properly." After that the churn stood peacefully under the silk cloth; the Prince in his lonely hours, would sometimes stand before it, and revolve in his mind how he could deliver it into the hands of the person for whom he had secretly intended it. The stars themselves appeared to favor him; for the revolving earth had rolled into the last sign of the zodiac, which guides the souls of our people with magic power to the most charming festival of the year. Christmas was near, and the ladies of the street near the Park moved about in secret activity. Intercourse with intimate acquaintances was interrupted, books that had been begun were laid aside, theatres and concert-rooms were empty; the tones of the piano-forte and of new bravuras rarely sounded to the rattling of carriage-wheels in the street; inward struggles were hushed, and bad neighbors little thought of. From morning to evening, little fingers were occupied with beads, wools, silk, paint-brush and palette; the day lengthened into eight-and-forty hours; even during the minutes of unquiet morning slumber, obliging crickets and other invisible spirits worked in the pay of the ladies. The nearer the festival approached, the more numerous were the secrets: in every closet were concealed things which no one was to see; from all sides, packages were brought into the house, that were forbidden to be touched. But whilst the other inmates of the house secretly slipped past one another, the lady of the house was the quiet ruler in the invisible realm of presents, and the confidant and clever adviser of all. She was never weary; she thought and arranged for every one; the world had become to her like a great cupboard with numerous compartments, from which she was incessantly fetching things, and in which she was always cautiously stowing covered packages. When on Christmas Eve the spangled stars shine, the wax-lights drip, and the golden balls glimmer and glisten on the Christmas tree, it is then that the fancies of the children celebrate