on the side of the mountain, away from the village street, perched the little hut of grandfather viaud. and here, on christmas eve, sat the old man and his wife, looking very sad and lonely. for there was no sound of childish laughter in the little hut, no patter of small feet, no whispering of christmas secrets. the little viauds had long since grown up and flown away to build nests of their own in far-off countries. poor josef viaud and old bettine were quite alone this christmas eve, save for the saint bernard dog who was stretched out before the fire, covering half the floor with his huge bulk, like a furry rug. he was the very prince of dogs, as his name betokened, and he was very good to grandfather and grandmother, who loved him dearly. but on christmas eve even the littlest cottage, crowded with the biggest tenants, seems lonely unless there are children in the corners.
[58]
the viauds sat silently gazing into the fire, with scarcely a word for each other, scarcely a caress for faithful prince. indeed, the great dog himself seemed to know that something was lacking, and every once in a while would lift his head and whine wistfully.
in each of the two small windows burned a row of candles, flickering in the draught that blew down the great chimney and swept through the little chamber. and these, with the crackling blaze upon the hearth, sent queer shadows quivering up the smoky walls.
grandfather viaud looked over his shoulder as a great gust blew the ashes into the room. "hey!" he cried. "i almost fancied the shadow of one looking in at the window. ha, ha! what foolishness! eh! but it is a fearsome storm. pray the good lord that there may be no poor creatures wandering on the mountain this night."
"the lord's birthday, too!" said grandmother bettine. "the dear little child has a cold way to come. even he might become[59] confused and be driven to wander by such a whirl of snow. i am glad that we set the tapers there, josef, even though we be so far from the village street down which they say he passes. how pleasant to think that one might give light to his blessed feet if they were wandering from the way,—the dear little child's feet, so rosy and soft and tender!" and good grandmother viaud dropped a tear upon her knitting; for she remembered many such little feet that had once pattered about the cottage floor. prince lifted his head and seemed to listen, then whined as he had done before.
"you are lonely, old fellow, are you not?" quavered old josef. "you are waiting for the children to come back and make it merry, as it used to be in the old days when you were a pup. heigho! those were pleasant days, but they will never come again, prince. we are all growing old, we three together."
"ah, peace, josef, peace!" cried old bettine, wiping her eyes again. "it is lonely enough and sad enough, god knows, without[60] speaking of it. what use to sigh for that which cannot be? if the good lord wished us to have a comforter in our old age, doubtless he would send us one. he knows how we have longed and prayed that a child's feet might echo through our house once more: how we have hoped from year to year that one of the grandchildren might return to bless us with his little presence." at this moment prince jumped to his feet with a low bark, and stood trembling, with pointed ears.
"what dost thou hear, old dog?" asked the grandfather carelessly. "there is naught human abroad this night, i warrant you. all wise folk are hugging the fire like us. only those bad spirits of christmas eve are howling about for mischief, they say. best keep away from the door, old prince, lest they nip your toes or bite your nose for spite."
"hush!" cried the grandmother, laying her hand upon his arm. "you forget: there is the other one abroad. it may be that he—"
she was interrupted by prince, who ran[61] eagerly to the door and began sniffing at the latch in great excitement. then he gave a long, low howl. at the same moment the latch rattled, and the viauds distinctly heard a little voice cry, "open, open, good people!"
the old couple looked at each other; the cheeks of one flushed, and the other's paled. at the same moment they rose stiffly from their chairs by the fire. but grandmother bettine was first at the door. she lifted the latch, the door blew open violently, and with a loud bark prince dashed out into the storm.
"what is it? who is there?" cried josef viaud, peering over his wife's shoulder. but no one answered save the rough storm, which fiercely blew into the faces of the old couple, whirling and screaming about their heads. "h'm! it was only a fancy," muttered the old man. "come in, mother. come, prince!" and he whistled out into the storm. but the wind whistled too, drowning his voice, and prince did not return. "he is gone!" cried josef impatiently. "it is some evil spirit's work."
"nay, father!" and, as she spoke, the door[62] banged violently in josef's face, as if to emphasize the good wife's rebuke. "it was a little child; i heard it," insisted bettine, as they staggered back to the fire and sank weakly into their chairs. "perhaps it was the holy child himself, who knows? but why would he not enter? why, josef? oh, i fear we were not good enough!"
"i only know that we have perhaps lost our good dog. why did you open the door, bettine?" grumbled josef sleepily.
"prince is not lost. for what was he bred a snow-dog upon the mountains if a storm like this be danger to him? he is of the race that rescues, that finds and is never lost. mayhap the holy child had work for him this night. ah, the little one! if i could but have seen him for one moment!" and good bettine's head nodded drowsily on her chair-back. presently the old couple were fast asleep.
now when they had been dreaming strange things for some time, there came a scratching at the door, and a loud bark which woke them suddenly.[63]
"what was that?" exclaimed grandfather, starting nervously. "ho, prince! are you without there?" and he ran to the door, while grandmother was still rubbing from her eyes the happy dream which had made them moist,—the dream of a rosy, radiant child who was to be the care and comfort of a lonely cottage. and then, before she had fairly wakened from the dream, prince bounded into the room and laid before the fire at her feet a soft, snow-wrapped bundle, from which hung a pale little face with golden hair.
"it is the child of my dream!" cried bettine. "the holy one has come back to us."
"nay, this is no dream-child, mother. this is a little human fellow, nearly frozen to death," exclaimed josef viaud, pulling the bundle toward the fire. "come, bettine, let us take off his snow-stiff clothes and get some little garments from the chests yonder. i will give him a draught of something warm, and rub the life into his poor little hands and feet. we have both been dreaming, it seems. but certainly this is no dream!"[64]
"look! the dove!" cried grandmother, taking the bird from the child's bosom, where it still nestled, warm and warming. "josef! i believe it is indeed the holy child himself," she whispered. "he bears a dove in his bosom, like the image in the church." but even as she spoke the dove fluttered in her fingers, then, with a gentle "coo-roo!" whirled once about the little chamber and darted out at the door, which they had forgotten quite to close. with that the child opened his eyes.
"the dove is gone!" he cried. "yet i am warm. why—has the little stranger come once more?" then he saw the kind old faces bent over him, and felt prince's warm kisses on his hands and cheeks, with the fire flickering pleasantly beyond.
"it is like coming home again!" he murmured, and with his head on bettine's shoulder dropped comfortably to sleep.
on the morrow all the village went to see the image of the christ child lying in a manger near the high altar of the church. it was a[65] sweet little child in a white shirt, clasping in his hands a dove. they believed him to have come in the stormy night down the village street. and they were glad that their pious candles in the windows had guided him safely on the road. but little pierre, while he sang in the choir, and his adopted parents, the viauds, kneeling happily below, had sweet thoughts of a dream which had brought them all together.
who knows but that prince at home happily guarding pierre's snow-wet old shoes—who knows but that prince was dreaming the happiest dream of all? for only prince knew how and where and under what guidance he had found the little friend of the lord's friends sleeping in the snow, with but a white dove in his bosom to keep him from becoming a boy of ice.
