“It was Christmas Eve. The younger children were snugly tucked in bed, while Jack sat staring at the empty stockings swinging from the mantel shelf in the gleaming fire-light.

“Jack was only twelve, and the man of the house. His face was very grave as he gazed alternately at the stockings, then at his mother bustling about tidying up the room.

“She finally sat down, declaring sadly: ‘It’s no use, Jack. I haven’t a penny to spare; the stockings will have to go empty.’

“The boy spoke not a word, but watched the fire sputter and crackle as though perhaps it might solve the problem.

“Of one thing he was certain: the stockings should not go empty if he could help it.

“The fire did show him the way, for suddenly the logs began to send out tiny sparks and snap for all the world like popcorn.

“‘Mother!’ he cried suddenly, ‘I have an idea. I’m going out.’

“‘Dress warm then, dear, and good luck to you.’

“The boy hurried out into the night, and such a night!

“Snowflakes were flying thick and fast, and above his head the ice-coated trees spread their friendly branches. He loved the crisp, sharp air, and raised his face that the flakes might lodge and sting.

“Soon he reached the busy street and watched keenly for a chance to earn a dime.

“Suddenly he saw a woman carrying a suitcase, running for the car, while at her side toddled a child trying in vain to keep up with her.

“‘Let me help, may I?’ asked Jack wistfully.

“‘Oh, if you only would,’ replied the woman, grateful indeed for the aid.

“As they reached the corner she slipped a silver piece into his hand. The car stopped, then whizzed on, leaving Jack staring at the quarter, hardly able to believe it.

“‘A good beginning,’ he murmured, and ran into a near-by store, where he purchased a few ears of popcorn and a small jar of molasses.

“Mother, much surprised, welcomed the gifts and boy with open arms.

“‘I earned them, Mother! Make some corn balls and candy while I try again,’ and away he went.

“This time he was not so successful. Every one seemed busy and hurried past him, not even glancing at the eager, earnest face.

“On one corner a hand-organ man was grinding out his music. Jack watched to see the people stop and drop pennies into his little cup.

“Suddenly the boy had an inspiration. He could sing like a bird. In fact he had been soloist of a boy choir in the town where they had lived before coming to the city.

“That work he loved, and was never so happy as, when clothed in his robes, walking up the aisle, singing while the great splendid organ pealed out its glorious music.

“One song, the Christmas Lullaby, was his special favourite. He always sang it at Christmas time. Why not sing it here on the street?

“It was sweeter than hand-organ music, and surely people ought to be willing to give a few pennies to hear it.

“No sooner thought than done, and Jack darted down the street a few blocks away from the hand-organ man.

“He chose the busiest corner where there was a wonderful toy store. In the window was a tree covered with gifts. The lights twinkled and danced as though cheering him on, and so there he paused and sang.

“He was a beautiful child. Indeed, in the fashionable church at home he had been called the Christ child, and now as he sang, many were attracted by his face and the clear sweet tones.

“They listened and passed on, leaving in the shabby cap many bits of silver.

“After a time the boy walked on, halting at various corners to sing, and presently found himself in front of a church.

“The music of the great organ pierced the air and as the door swung to and fro, he saw a large audience with many children gaily dressed, waiting expectantly.

“Jack was tired and cold. He longed to be enfolded in the light and warmth within and listen to the music, and he quietly crept inside up a stairway, then down to the front. No one was there and he leaned forward to see a wonderful tree. It sparkled with tinsel, while coloured lights gleamed here and there like shining jewels breathing a halo about the head of the Christmas Angel standing on the topmost branch.

“The outstretched arms seemed to pronounce a blessing on the fruit of this tree waiting to be showered on the many little ones, who stood admiring and exclaiming over this vision of beauty.

“It was an enormous tree. The top branches were fastened securely to a heavy pole which was thrown across the chancel and rested in the grooves on the hand-carved posts which stood either side of the entrance to this sacred place.

“Jack, fascinated by the scene, watched hungrily every detail, and as a thirsty flower holds up its dainty head for the first raindrops, so the boy eagerly drank in every note of the music which he knew so well.

“He longed to be a choir boy once more, but he was timid and bashful and feared to make any effort in this direction in a strange city.

“As he pondered on how to gain the coveted position, he watched the tree being stripped of its fruit and placed in many outstretched hands.

“He gazed wistfully on the joyous scene, but was suddenly startled by a flash of light, which, from his position, he saw was a thread of flame leaping upwards toward the Christmas Angel.

“There was but one thing to do, and he was the one to do it. Without a thought for himself he sprang for the pole, hung by his toes, and in an instant the flaming branch was broken from the tree and crushed in his hands.

“Below a quick cry of ‘Fire!’ rang out, then was heard the shriek of a child.

“Jack knew the impending panic must be averted instantly, and as he swung up on to the pole, he wound his limbs about it, and there perched in the topmost branches, a veritable Christ Child, he sang, as he never sang before, the Christmas Lullaby.

“The cries below ceased. The audience stared in amazement. Had he fallen from the blue skies painted on the ceiling by a master hand or had one of the Murillo angels, hovering amongst the billowy clouds, come to life?

“Those who heard never forgot the pathos of the plaintive melody.

“The choirmaster listened breathlessly, for here was the soloist he had for months been vainly seeking.

“The organist, wild with delight over the heavenly music, coming from he knew not where, followed gently with the organ accompaniment, the flute-like tones blending with the bird notes of the boy.

“Higher and higher soared the voice of the Christmas Angel, while the people gazed entranced. Such tender sweetness it had never been their privilege to hear.

“Surely the Baby Jesus was being lulled to sleep by the angelic music, which at last slowly and gently died away.

“A moment of tense silence was followed by a rustle; the tension was broken and Jack swung himself back to the gallery, to be greeted by many outstretched hands.

“He had many questions to answer and before the child realised it, he had told the story of limp stockings hanging by the chimneyside at home, and how hard he had tried to fill them.

“His pathetic tale, together with his daring efforts to quench the fire and avert a panic, moved many to tears.

“You all know what followed. How he was driven home in state in a grand sleigh drawn by a pair of prancing horses, and how his new-found friends not only filled the stockings, but then and there engaged him as soloist of the boy choir at such a salary that his mother need work no more, and they were all comfortable and happy for many a day.

“And now good-bye, and I wish you a very Merry Christmas.”

With that the Story Elf vanished, and her audience chorused:

“Wasn’t that lovely?”

“Indeed, it was,” declared Mr. Cinnamon Stick; “and now I believe we have heard from every one of this large family—”