A CHILD’S CHRISTMAS IN FRANCE.

filled with hay in representation of the manger in the Bethlehem inn which re-
ceived the infant Saviour. In the midst of this straw cradle lay a large waxen
doll, smiling out of bright blue eyes upon the surrounding worshipers.

None were more devout than Félicie and Pierre. The boy, young as he
was, had caught something of the true Christmas spirit. The river and the
starry sky had taught unspeakable things to the child heart; and now, as he
began to whisper softly his Pater Nosters, his prayers seemed to him to be rising
on the wings of the beautiful Christmas music which soared up from the choir
and lost itself amid the arches of the Cathedral.

Félicie hardly knew how she got her sleepy Pierre over the bridge and up

 

“HE FOUND HIMSELF THE CENTER OF A MERRY GROUP.”

the steep street of the Tranchée, home again to the little shop. The savory
odor of soup seemed to arouse the drowsy child. He suddenly found himself in
the little parlor in the center of a merry group of familiar faces. There was
the dear grandmamma kissing her boy on both cheeks, and kind Madame Bonnier
from the bakery over the way; there were Father and Mother Dupin from the
next house and all the good neighbors who had made up the party to and from
the Cathedral. And what a fine cake it was in the center of the table, larger,,
it seemed to Pierre than any he had ever seen in the windows of the grand pastry