THE HERMIT’S CHRISTMAS
THE
HERMIT’S CHRISTMAS
DAVID de FOREST BURRELL
AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY
150 Nassau Street, New York
Copyright, 1912, by
American Tract Society
On Christmas Day the solitudeof the hermit Theodore wasbroken in upon.
The hermit, a gaunt, austerefigure of a man in a long robe ofgoat’s hair, stood before the doorof his cave upon the heights, lookingout over the wooded slopesand the shining waters at theirfeet, when the first intruder madehis appearance. The sunlightglanced from his armor where hecame out from the forest shadowson a bare shoulder of the mountainfar below. The gleam caughtthe hermit’s eye, and, withoutmoving, he watched while the mandrew nearer. He climbed butslowly under the weight of his armor.About his head a white[6]cloth was wrapped as securityagainst the hot sun, while his helmetwas slung at his back. Hisgreat sword he used for a staff.
At length, stumbling over thelast stone in utter weariness, hereached the hermit’s side andthrew himself upon the ground,calling hoarsely for water, in thename of all the saints. The hermitbrought it, a gourd full, whichthe Crusader drank dry in greatgulps. He wiped his face, redand shining from the exertion ofhis climb.
“God bless thee for that kindlydraft, good father.”
“Nay, my son, ’tis but a smallChristmas gift, since it cost menaught save a journey to thespring below.”
The knight started.
“I had forgot! Christmas Day,in sooth! and what a place tokeep it in!”
“The place matters not, my son,so that thy heart be right for thefeast.”
The other’s eyes twinkled fora moment.
“And dost thou feast on ChristmasDay, father? Methoughtdried peas and, perchance, a cutof goat’s flesh would be daintiesfitted to thy scruples.”
The hermit smiled.
“Why, so they are; but trulythe food matters little more thanthe place.”
Then the knight sighed loudly.
“Ah, but I bethink me,” hesaid, “of a great hall in MerryEngland, and the boar’s head andthe foaming ale and the songsand laughter! I would I werethere, across yon blue sea!”
The hermit smiled again.
“Truly, Sir Knight, driedgoat’s flesh is not a boar’s head,and this gourd I take from thee isnot a horn of ale; but this isChristmas Day, and thou art welcome.”
“And I will stay, good father,and dine with thee! but in truthI had meant so to do, an the hermit’s[8]face were not too long.” Heglanced up, sidelong, at the hermit’ssolemn visage above him.“Yonder, on the road by the sea,lies my horse with a broken leg.God’s mercy that he did not breakmy skull when h