WOMAN.  It is life itself! (Her voice has grown young and strong.  Sinks back again as she has eaten it all) Bless thee, Child!

    (HOLGER sets the empty dish aside on the hearth and turns to feel
    her hands.)

HOLGER.  Oh, thou art warm!

WOMAN.  Aye, warm! (In a voice increasingly rich and sweet.  At this moment there comes the distant sound of organ music. HOLGER straightens suddenly in a listening attitude) Listen,—­is that music?

HOLGER.  From the Cathedral!—­Aye, it must be,—­last summer we could hear it plain, and now with so many thousands there! (Leaves the woman and stands in the center of the room listening attentively) It’s beginning!—­(Pause) Everyone is there!

WOMAN.  Why are they there.

HOLGER.  It’s the great service! (He goes toward the window and stands looking out.  He talks on half to her, half to himself) All the world is there, the village folk, and strangers from afar, great court folk, too,—­aye, and the King,—­our King!  And He will give a gift,—­a King’s gift! (She rises erectly and follows him across the room.  There is the strength and poise of youth in her walk.  The heavy black hood has fallen back revealing a head covering of white linen that suggests a sister of Charity and gives her face a look of austerity and sweetness.  She is strong, maternal, beautiful.  Intuitively, HOLGER, in his disappointment begins to lean upon her sympathy.  The music grows a little louder and floats into the room) Look, dame, you can even see the windows gleam!  It is so near!  It’s all beginning and—­I—­am not there! (A sob creeps into his voice)

WOMAN.  Son!

HOLGER.  Aye, dame? (He turns and comes toward her, she seats herself on the stool near the window, reaches out a hand and draws him down beside her)

WOMAN.  Thou, too, wouldst go? (HOLGER, too moved by her sympathy to speak, nods silently and puts up a hand to hide the trembling of his lips.  She slips her hand to his shoulder) Another time thou’ll go!

HOLGER. (Fighting back his tears) It’ll never be the same again!  To-night the Christ comes.  Bertel said—­“The Christ!”

WOMAN.  Nay, son, pray to the Christ-child, pray that He does not pass thee by! (She sits facing the back wall of the hut. HOLGER kneels before her, and drops his head in her lap.  She lays her hand gently upon his hair and makes the sign of the cross above him)

(As they have been talking together, the fire on the hearth has burned itself out and the shadows in the room have crept forward and closed around them till only a faint outline of HOLGER and the WOMAN can be distinguished in the glimmer of moonlight shining through the window nearby.  There is a long pause broken only by the boy’s sobbing which gradually sinks to silence.  As he prays, a faint light begins to grow behind