“When she was little her grandmother used to tell her stories; and one evening they both sat by the fire; but the stories had come to an end. But still the little girl’s hand lay on the old woman’s dress, and she gently stroked the silk,—that funny stuff which sounded like a little bird. And this stroking was her prayer, for she was one of those children who never beg in words. “Then the old lady began to tell her of a little child in the land of Judah; of a little child who was born to become a great King. The angels had filled the earth with songs of praise when he was born. The kings of the East came, guided by the star of heaven, and gave him gold and incense; and old men and women foretold his glory. This child grew up to greater beauty and wisdom than all other children. Already, when he was twelve years old, his wisdom was greater than that of the chief-priests and the scribes. “Then the old woman told her of the most beautiful thing the earth has ever seen: of that child’s life while he remained among men,—those wicked men who would not acknowledge him their King. “She told her how the child became a man, but that the glory surrounded him still. “Everything on the earth served him and loved him, except mankind. The fishes let themselves be caught in his net, bread filled his baskets, water changed itself to wine when he wished it. “But the people gave the great King no golden crown, no shining throne. He had no bowing courtiers about him. They let him go among them like a beggar. “Still, he was so good to them, the great King! He cured their sicknesses, gave back to the blind their sight, and waked the dead. “But,” said the grandmother, “the people would not have the great King for their lord. “‘They sent their soldiers against him, and took him prisoner; they dressed him, by way of mockery, in crown and sceptre, and in a silken cloak, and made him go out to the place of execution, bearing a heavy cross. Oh, my child, the good King loved the high mountains. At night he used to climb them to talk with those who dwelt in heaven, and he liked by day to sit on the mountain-side and talk to the listening people. But now they led him up on a mountain to crucify him. They drove nails through his hands and feet, and hung the good King on a cross, as if he had been a robber or a malefactor. “‘And the people mocked at him. Only his mother and his friends wept, that he should die before he had been a King. “‘Oh, how the dead things mourned his death! “‘The sun lost its light, and the mountains trembled; the curtain in the temple was rent asunder, and the graves opened, that the dead might rise up and show their grief.’ “The little one lay with her head on her grandmother’s knee, and sobbed as if her heart would break. “‘Do not weep, little one; the good King rose from his grave and went up to his Father in heaven.’ “‘Grandmother,’ sobbed the poor little thing, ‘did he ever get any kingdom?’