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<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 70521 ***</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_1"></a>[1]</span></p>
<h1>THE HERMIT’S CHRISTMAS</h1>
<figure class="figcenter illowp40" id="titlepage" style="max-width: 23.4375em;">
<img class="w100" src="images/titlepage.jpg" alt="">
</figure>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_2"></a>[2]</span></p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_3"></a>[3]</span></p>
<p class="titlepage larger">THE<br>
HERMIT’S CHRISTMAS</p>
<p class="titlepage"><span class="smcap">DAVID de FOREST BURRELL</span></p>
<p class="titlepage">AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY<br>
<span class="smcap">150 Nassau Street, New York</span></p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_4"></a>[4]</span></p>
<p class="titlepage smaller">Copyright, 1912, by<br>
<span class="smcap">American Tract Society</span></p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_5"></a>[5]</span></p>
<h2><span class="smaller">THE</span><br>
HERMIT’S CHRISTMAS</h2>
</div>
<p>On Christmas Day the solitude
of the hermit Theodore was
broken in upon.</p>
<p>The hermit, a gaunt, austere
figure of a man in a long robe of
goat’s hair, stood before the door
of his cave upon the heights, looking
out over the wooded slopes
and the shining waters at their
feet, when the first intruder made
his appearance. The sunlight
glanced from his armor where he
came out from the forest shadows
on a bare shoulder of the mountain
far below. The gleam caught
the hermit’s eye, and, without
moving, he watched while the man
drew nearer. He climbed but
slowly under the weight of his armor.
About his head a white<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_6"></a>[6]</span>
cloth was wrapped as security
against the hot sun, while his helmet
was slung at his back. His
great sword he used for a staff.</p>
<p>At length, stumbling over the
last stone in utter weariness, he
reached the hermit’s side and
threw himself upon the ground,
calling hoarsely for water, in the
name of all the saints. The hermit
brought it, a gourd full, which
the Crusader drank dry in great
gulps. He wiped his face, red
and shining from the exertion of
his climb.</p>
<p>“God bless thee for that kindly
draft, good father.”</p>
<p>“Nay, my son, ’tis but a small
Christmas gift, since it cost me
naught save a journey to the
spring below.”</p>
<p>The knight started.</p>
<p>“I had forgot! Christmas Day,
in sooth! and what a place to
keep it in!”</p>
<p>“The place matters not, my son,
so that thy heart be right for the
feast.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_7"></a>[7]</span></p>
<p>The other’s eyes twinkled for
a moment.</p>
<p>“And dost thou feast on Christmas
Day, father? Methought
dried peas and, perchance, a cut
of goat’s flesh would be dainties
fitted to thy scruples.”</p>
<p>The hermit smiled.</p>
<p>“Why, so they are; but truly
the food matters little more than
the place.”</p>
<p>Then the knight sighed loudly.</p>
<p>“Ah, but I bethink me,” he
said, “of a great hall in Merry
England, and the boar’s head and
the foaming ale and the songs
and laughter! I would I were
there, across yon blue sea!”</p>
<p>The hermit smiled again.</p>
<p>“Truly, Sir Knight, dried
goat’s flesh is not a boar’s head,
and this gourd I take from thee is
not a horn of ale; but this is
Christmas Day, and thou art welcome.”</p>
<p>“And I will stay, good father,
and dine with thee! but in truth
I had meant so to do, an the hermit’s<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_8"></a>[8]</span>
face were not too long.” He
glanced up, sidelong, at the hermit’s
solemn visage above him.
“Yonder, on the road by the sea,
lies my horse with a broken leg.
God’s mercy that he did not break
my skull when he fell! I saw a
path leading away through the
forest toward the mountain, and
as all paths on Athos do now but
lead to hermits’ caves, ’twas but a
short moment before I turned my
steps hitherward.”</p>
<p>There was a sound of feet
clambering up the rocky way. A
voice reached them, harsh and nasal,
uttering loud curses upon
lands where Christian hospitality
dwelt in caves on mountain-tops.
Then an unkempt head came into
view, followed by a body clothed
in rags and patches.</p>
<p>The hermit greeted the newcomer
after the fashion of the
East: “Peace to thee.”</p>
<p>The man paused to get his
breath, and answered, “Thou art
set on high indeed, holy father.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_9"></a>[9]</span>
’Twere more friendly to set thy
cave by the roadside below.”</p>
<p>“Make thy complaint to God
who made the cave, thou unmannerly
rascal!” the knight interrupted,
jumping to his feet. “By
thy costume thou art a beggar.
Go thou and beg of richer men.”</p>
<p>“Peace, peace!” said the hermit.
“All men are beggars at
my door—and all are guests—and
all are welcome.”</p>
<p>“Then thou shalt have a full
table for thy Christmas dried
peas, father, for yonder come
more of thy guests.”</p>
<p>The hermit and the beggar
looked down where he pointed.
Up the steep path toiled four
men, one after the other. The
three above stood waiting their
arrival. At length they came.
The knight checked them off in
an undertone as the hermit gave
to each his kindly “Peace to
thee!”</p>
<p>“Thou art a merchant, and
wealthy, by thy girth”—so ran<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_10"></a>[10]</span>
the commentary—“and thou—a
thief, by thine eyes and thy nearness
to Sir Merchant. And thou—thou
art I know not what, but
thou hast broken heart written on
thy face. And thou art a thinker,
by thy broad brow and thy slender
figure.”</p>
<p>One after another they returned
the hermit’s greeting, each after
his kind. He whom the knight
called merchant offered bluntly
to pay for a good meal; the thief
spoke with oily heartiness; the
broken-hearted said never a word;
and he of the broad brow and the
uncalloused fingers responded
with the courtesy of one at home
in any place.</p>
<p>“A fair Christmas Day, good
sirs,” quoth the hermit then; “and
all I have for your Christmas
feast! Come hither into the shade
of the rock and sit ye down.”</p>
<p>And without further parley
down they sat upon the brown
earth, a strange company, while
the hermit brought from his cave<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_11"></a>[11]</span>
a great dish of dried meat, and a
bowl of parched peas, and lastly
an earthen jar of water, cool and
sparkling. The beggar made as
if to put his hand to the dish of
meat, when the hermit stayed him.</p>
<p>“An it please you,” he said
gravely, “we will thank the Christ
who was born this day.”</p>
<p>The beggar withdrew his hand.
The fat merchant, who had
thought to put forth his own,
withheld it. With bowed head
they waited until the brief prayer
was done, then set to as hungry
men, one and all.</p>
<p>“Tough, but grateful to an
empty stomach, is thy goat’s
meat,” said the man of the broad
brow. “But tell me, Father Hermit,
thou didst return thanks for
dried meat and peas: dost in very
truth regard this mean repast as
a Christmas feast?”</p>
<p>“That do I!” returned the hermit
vigorously.</p>
<p>“That do I not!” said the other
in a sneer half hidden in his<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_12"></a>[12]</span>
beard, “no more do these my fellow-guests,
I warrant you. Tell
me, friend knight, hast any
thought of Christmas in thy
mind?”</p>
<p>“Nay,” said the knight frankly;
“only of a snow-white, crisp
Christmas at home.”</p>
<p>“Sir Beggar? Is this a Christmas
joy to thee?”</p>
<p>“Nay,” said the beggar with a
whine; “but were I in my own
town—ah, there beggar-folk feast
at Christmas-tide at the cost of
the open-handed rich!”</p>
<p>“Sir Merchant, what of thee?
Is this Christmas to thy mind?”</p>
<p>“Nay,” said the merchant between
bites, “never a Christmas
without good roast capon.”</p>
<p>“Sir Melancholy? Hast thou
Christmas cheer? Nay, we need
not thine answer. And thou, Sir
Shifty Eyes—is this Christmas to
thee?”</p>
<p>“Nay,” said the last of all, “I
see no Christmas joy in this
shrivelled fare.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_13"></a>[13]</span></p>
<p>“Hearest thou, O Father Hermit?”
cried the questioner in triumph.
“And thou sayest this
brings Christmas joy to thee!”</p>
<p>“And truly so it does!” answered
the hermit quietly. Then,
his eyes sweeping quickly around
the circle, he spoke more strongly:
“And more, Sir Philosopher—for
such I take thee to be—I can tell
each of you why he has no Christmas
joy from this feast of mine.”</p>
<p>“Come, then,” said the philosopher
invitingly.</p>
<p>“Thou first,” said the hermit,
not heeding the sneer no longer
concealed—“thou art a philosopher,
is it not so?—So I thought.—And
thou hast exchanged faith
for reason, and by thy bargain
thou hast lost thy Christ and thy
Christmas. Thou wast afraid to
believe! God manifest in the
flesh thou couldst not understand,
and therefore God manifest in the
flesh thou didst cast away.”</p>
<p>The other would have interrupted,
but the hermit raised his<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_14"></a>[14]</span>
hand to silence him. “Nay, I
said not I would argue with thee,
but that I would show thee why
thou hast no Christmas joy. And
I have shown thee. Thou hast no
faith: that is why. Thou, who
dost come over yonder blue sea
by faith; who dost follow a mountain
path on faith;—thou, who
dost not know thyself nor thy
neighbor nor thy world, but dost
take all on faith—thou dost not
believe in the might of the finger
of God! Not a day passes but
thou dost believe the unexplainable;
yet thou must explain the
Christ-child before thou wilt believe
on him! Thou dost not
know me; thou canst not explain
one of these dried peas, nor the
way it grew, nor the sunlight that
dried it; and yet thou dost eat
my dried peas gladly! Have I
hit thee? ‘Whosoever shall not receive
the kingdom of heaven as
a——’”</p>
<p>He paused for a moment. The
philosopher’s eyes had fallen; his<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_15"></a>[15]</span>
sneer was gone; he had not a word
to say. The hermit turned to the
thief, who sat next in the circle,
and shot his next words at him.</p>
<p>“And thou, I know thine ailment,
and why thou hast no
Christmas joy in thy feast! Thou
hast stolen money in thy scrip and
a bad conscience in thy breast.”</p>
<p>The man with the shifty eyes
gripped his wallet tight and
turned pale under his tan.</p>
<p>“Nay, friend thief,” said the
hermit more gently, “this is no
court of law. There is no judge
here but thy God. Thou art
afraid to meet the Christ-child
when thou comest to judgment;
that is why thou hast no joy in
this Christmas-tide. Clear conscience
doth make glad heart. Get
thee back and restore what thou
hast stolen!”</p>
<p>His eyes sought those of him
of the melancholy countenance,
but the man would not look up.
Nevertheless the hermit addressed
him, knowing that he heard.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_16"></a>[16]</span></p>
<p>“And thou, Sir Melancholy,
methinks I know thy sorrow.
Thou dost think thyself disillusioned.
Sorrow has come thy
way, and loneliness. Thy friends
have proven no friends at all.
And because thou hast lost faith
in man, thou hast lost faith in
God, and thou hast forgotten the
faith of thy childhood. Thou hast
drunk wormwood and therefore
thou dost curse God.”</p>
<p>The man had lifted his head
and was gazing at him, his embittered
hungry soul in his eyes.
The hermit’s tone softened.</p>
<p>“Oh, thou poor soul!” he said,
“thou hast done the very opposite
to what thou shouldst have
done. For instead of false friends
thou hast a Friend divine. Thy
house is empty; yet thy Friend
but keeps thy dear ones for thee
till thou comest. Thou hast
looked only at the things which
are seen; but lift thine eyes! look
thou at the things which are not
seen, the eternal things of God!<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_17"></a>[17]</span>
Then hast thou, even thou, bereaved
and lonely, joy in the
Birthday of thy Lord!”</p>
<p>He ceased speaking. Suddenly
the other bowed his head upon his
arms and was shaken by great
tearing sobs. They sat in silence
until he raised his head and said,
brokenly, and trying to smile,
“Thou hast wrought a miracle,
father! These be the first tears
mine eyes have known in many a
year.”</p>
<p>“I guessed as much,” the hermit
said, “and tears be often the
forerunners of a new joy.”</p>
<p>The Crusader sat next in the
circle. With the help of the beggar
he had undone the thongs on
his armor and stripped himself
of his shining coat of mail. In
his woolen shirt, worn and marked
with rust, he was a picture of
stalwart strength, with knotted
muscles and heavy shoulders.</p>
<p>“Thou,” began the hermit,
“thou, Sir Knight, hast been to
Jerusalem, across yonder waters,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_18"></a>[18]</span>
to protect the sepulcher of thy
Lord Christ, whose Birthday this
is. And thou dost not know thy
Lord; wherefore thou hast no joy
in Him.”</p>
<p>“Not know my Lord!” cried
the knight.</p>
<p>“Nay, thou knowest not thy
Lord! By two things I know it
and will prove it thee. Imprimis,
thou hast slain thy fellow-men,
and hast waded in their blood, for
the sake of thy God. Wherefore
thou knowest not Him; for the
Christ is not served by blood-letting,
by the slaying of thy brother-men.
Thou dost hate the Saracen
who dishonors thy Lord’s
tomb; but thy Lord has bidden
thee love the Saracen, and thou
hast not heard his voice. Again,
thy Lord Christ would have thee
kindly and tender toward all, both
man and beast; but thou hast left
thy good steed, who has borne
thee to thy Lord’s city and thus
far homeward—thou hast left him
lying down yonder with a broken<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_19"></a>[19]</span>
limb and hast not put him out of
his misery. Wherefore, again,
thou dost not know thy Lord; not
knowing Him, thou canst have
none of his joy at his birth-feast!
Wert thou Christ’s man, as thou
dost wear Christ’s cross, thou
wouldst ere this have cared for
thy beast!”</p>
<p>At that the knight leaped to
his feet.</p>
<p>“By this cross,” he cried, “but
thou art a bold man, Sir Hermit!”</p>
<p>His sword was in his hand.
The hermit made no move. The
others sat watching the shining
blade. The knight caught the
hermit’s eye, hesitated, dropped
his sword with a clatter, and
turned and strode down the path
out of sight.</p>
<p>The hermit turned to the merchant.</p>
<p>“And thou, sir,” he said, “I
have thy measure an I mistake
not; and the reason why thou hast
no joy in this feast. Thou hast<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_20"></a>[20]</span>
so encased thy soul in the fat of
getting and of self-indulgence
that thou hast forgotten it. Thou
hast lived for thyself. Thy treasure-chest
thou hast filled, and
thou hast wrung thy gold from
the sweat and tears of many a
brother-man. God gave thee thy
talents, but thou hast not requited
God. Thou art swollen
with what thou hast sucked from
God’s world. Thy pride is in
what thou callest thine own, and
thy joy in spending it for what
thou callest thyself. Thou knowest
not the Christ-child; for the
Christ bids thee give, not get;
and thou hast not found joy in
this feast, for thou hast through
it all thought only of thyself!
The joy of Christ’s Birthday will
come when thou forgettest thyself!”</p>
<p>And the merchant, when the
hermit ceased speaking, grew very
red in the face and fingered his
wallet uncomfortably. But he
had not a word to say.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_21"></a>[21]</span></p>
<p>“And thou, Sir Beggar,” went
on the voice of the hermit, “thou
hast, like thy neighbor, lived by
sucking the world dry. Thou
hast taken from the world and
given nothing. God made thee to
work, but thou hast disdained to
work. Thy mind is rich with excuses
and reasons, but none is
good: thou art a lazy varlet and
a selfish one. Therefore thou
knowest not the Christ. For He
was a carpenter, and his hands
were hard with toil. He saved
men, not lived on them, yonder in
Nazareth. And none has right
to joy on Christmas-tide who
has no respect for himself and no
joy in honest toil. Stretch out
thy hand to the plow, not to ask
an alms! Let thy brow shine
with the sweat of thy work for
the Christ; then shalt thou taste
his joy! He has given himself
to thee, and thou—thou art a beggar!”</p>
<p>He was done. He turned to
the philosopher with a quiet smile.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_22"></a>[22]</span>
“Have I not kept my word?” he
asked.</p>
<p>The other nodded slowly, then
lifted his chin with a challenge:
“In truth thou hast, good host.
But I, too, am a student of men;
and I have a flaw to pick in thine
own case.”</p>
<p>The hermit’s smile faded from
his lips. He seemed for the moment
to draw into himself; and he
spoke in a low voice.</p>
<p>“Nay,” he said; “I said not I
was perfect; nor even that I gathered
from this poor feast all that
I might have gained of joy. It
has been the better for your presence;
and yet—I too confess I
have known happier feasts.”</p>
<p>It was the philosopher’s turn
to smile, but he had lost his sneer,
and he did not smile.</p>
<p>“Thou hast withdrawn thyself,
Sir Hermit,” he said not ungently,
“from the world and its snares.
Thou wast weak, and the evil in
the world drew thee, and thy
conscience troubled thee; and thou<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_23"></a>[23]</span>
didst flee, like many others, to the
wilderness. Is it not so?”</p>
<p>He did not wait for a reply,
but leaned forward and pointed
his words with a long, slender finger.
“And thou too hast lost—not
all, but much, of the joy of
this feast because thou hast been
a coward! A coward! Thou wast
afraid! Though thy Lord fought
through forty days and forty
nights of temptation; though he
did agonize for thee in the garden;
though he did show thee how
to fight thy soul’s battles—thou
didst run away to the desert!
Thou hadst a place to fill, a work
to do, men to serve, a Gospel to
preach—and thou wast afraid!
And thou hast but a part of thy
joy to-day because thou hast forgotten
that the Christ-child whose
feast this is was born to succor
thee in thy temptations! Thou
hast no right to this feast! Thou
shouldst be at thy work in the
world! Thy Christ hath a work
for thee!”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_24"></a>[24]</span></p>
<p>A silence fell upon them. The
hermit seemed to have shrunk
into himself. Absently he rolled
a parched pea between fingers
none too steady. His voice trembled
when at length he spoke.</p>
<p>“I stand like you all, convicted.
We be but poor Christians all. I
had thought to keep my soul pure
by fleeing evil; but”—and his
voice grew clear and strong—“I
was wrong. I shall go back! I
shall go back to serve my Lord
Christ! And you, brothers?
What of you all? Will ye go
back with me to serve our Lord
and our brothers?”</p>
<p>He looked around the little circle.
None answered for a moment;
then the sorrowful man
said, “I will go.” “And I,” said
the thief; and the others nodded
without speaking, all save the
philosopher, who sat with head
bent, deep in some soul struggle.</p>
<p>“Come,” said the merchant
briskly; “an I can break my chain,
so canst thou.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_25"></a>[25]</span></p>
<p>“Nay, friend,” said the philosopher
sadly; “it is not chains, but
the absence of chains, that I feel.
Could I but bind my soul to thy
Christ—but how can I? Can a
man force his soul to accept a
mystery his mind rejects?”</p>
<p>Then spoke the sorrowful man,
with a new and more cheerful
tone in his voice.</p>
<p>“Ay, that he can! That have
I done but now! Truly my mind
cannot see heaven and mine own
in heaven; but I am weary of
guesswork. I will believe and
hope. And thou—with all thy
knowledge thou art no wiser as to
God: thy mind saveth thee not:
trust thou thy faith.”</p>
<p>“That were wisdom,” said the
hermit slowly. “We speak to
thee, and thou dost not bid us explain
ourselves before thou wilt
hear: and the Christ speaketh to
thee on this his Day. Wilt thou
argue? Nay, but believe!”</p>
<p>And the philosopher looked up at
them again, and his brow cleared.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_26"></a>[26]</span></p>
<p>“Why, good father, the world
was not built in a day. I will be
honest with thee: I cannot believe;
but I will pray Christ to
help me believe. Is it enough?”</p>
<p>“I am but a poor fool,” spoke
the beggar, “and thou a philosopher,
and yet—if thou dost pray
to Christ thou dost believe already.”</p>
<p>“And that, again, is wisdom,”
quoth the hermit.</p>
<p>So they sat and talked while
the shadows moved ’round the
mountain and the sun began to
sink over the sea to the west.</p>
<p>“When the sun goeth down we
journey into the world,” the hermit
said.</p>
<p>Toward twilight they heard the
footsteps of the soldier, and his
bronzed face appeared at the head
of the path. He halted for a moment,
surveying the scene. They
were on their feet, girding themselves
for the descent.</p>
<p>“What now?” he cried, when he
could get his breath.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_27"></a>[27]</span></p>
<p>The philosopher spoke for all.
“We have been to school, Sir
Knight, as thou hast, and we have
learned that on this Christmas
Day which takes us back to the
world. Wilt come?”</p>
<p>“So,” said the knight, the old
twinkle in his eye; “and what hast
thou learned, O wise one?”</p>
<p>“That the joy of the Christmas
feast may be found in dried peas
if faith be there at table.”</p>
<p>“And thou, Sir Beggar?”</p>
<p>“That the joy of the Christmas
feast is his who hath honest sweat
upon his brow.”</p>
<p>“And thou, Sir Merchant?”</p>
<p>“That the joy of the Christmas
feast lieth not in the viands, but
in finding joy for others.”</p>
<p>“And thou, Sir Melancholy?”</p>
<p>“That there may be joy in the
Christmas feast, even for the bitter
in soul, if they look not backward,
but forward.”</p>
<p>“And thou, Sir—craving thy
pardon—Sir Thief?”</p>
<p>“It was a good guess,” said the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_28"></a>[28]</span>
thief. His eyes met the soldier’s
squarely. “But I have learned.
There is no Christmas joy without
an honest conscience.”</p>
<p>“And thou, good host?”</p>
<p>“They have taught me, Sir
Knight! There is no fulness of
joy for him who shirks the fight.
We go together back to life. Wilt
go?”</p>
<p>The knight stooped for his coat
of mail. “An some friend here
will harness me, I will go, and
gladly. Thou hast taught me, too,
good father. The Christ whose
Birthday we keep joyeth not in
hatred, but in love and kindliness
to all. Verily, what a school thou
keepest! Thou hast shown us the
soul of Christmas! Master and
scholars, all for the world this
Christmas Day! God give us joy
of our journey!”</p>
<p>So, in the cool of the evening,
they filed down from the hermit’s
cave to the road that led to the
world!</p>
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<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 70521 ***</div>
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