"It's a genuine pleasure being the teacher for your children this year. Every school day, from eight o'clock in the morning till four in the evening, my thirty-seven pupils and I are in our own separate world over across the branch at the schoolhouse.

They're as fine a bunch as I've ever had, and I've been teaching now for seventeen years.

"Yet you can see for yourselves that if I teach these bright pupils only what is printed in the books, and if you provide only something for their dinner buckets, clothes to go on their backs, and a shelter for them at night, we all fail.

"During the short years that boys and girls are in our care, we must show them more than reading and writing and how to plant crops and how to get bread and meat on the table and how to marry and rear their own little ones. If this is all we do, we will have done no more than a 'possum that sacks its young around or any bird that tires its wings making trip after trip to the nest with worms and bugs for its fledglings. They too know how to get the necessities and to train their offspring to do the same.

"If we show children no more about life than this, that's likely all they'll ever know. The desire to search for life's full meaning, its sweetness, will never be theirs.

"I don't pretend to understand the purpose of human life. To me, the struggle to know is, in itself, almost the answer. A man strives all his days to get for himself that which is pleasant and lovely and good to think upon. Is not this a groping toward the Divine? Could it be that we were made to desire the perfect so that we would be drawn to the Almighty?

"Tonight, let's keep these questions deep in our hearts as the pupils give their pieces. Some of their recitations and skits are light, but most are serious. Through such a Christmas entertainment, we can put in the children's memories forever how G.o.d came down to man. In the years ahead this will help them, too, to struggle, to search, to hope, to hold fast."

Mister Shepherd moved back toward his chair and Captain Jones, and Aunt Vic took the lamp from the top of the organ over to the pulpit. She set it right beside the big Bible.

With the schoolteacher's help, Captain Jones managed to get to his feet, and both Mister Shepherd and Aunt Vic helped steady him as he walked toward the stand. Everybody stayed still and quiet, waiting.

Aunt Vic spread open the Bible to where the red ribbon was showing and then stepped to one side so she could hold up the lamp. "Is this all right, Captain Jones?"

"Yes, Miss Vic, I can see fine, thank you."

"At this time, Captain Jones will read for us, as he has these many years." Aunt Vic lifted the lamp a little higher.

When Captain Jones had straightened the nose piece of his gla.s.ses, he began reading:

And it came to pa.s.s in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed....

That wasn't anything for me to listen to, I could tell, for I didn't even know Caesar Augustus. I wished Aunt Vic would hurry and say, "At this time, we will start taking presents off the tree." But I knew it would be hours before she got around to saying that.

Then, I made another wish: I wished that one of the popcorn b.a.l.l.s would fall to the floor and that Mama would let me eat it up! But, none fell. They just stayed still, hanging there on the holly limbs, as if they too were waiting. Nothing on the tree was moving, except the flickering tips of the candle flames, and little wisps of smoke rising from each blaze. Nothing in the whole church was moving, except those candle lights and Captain Jones's lips and his quivering beard.

The stiff pasteboard in my paper hat was bothering my head so much I wanted to pull the hat clear off. I reached up to get it, but Mama made such a frown I knew to leave it alone.

Then we saw Aunt Vic raise one of her hands in a quick waving motion. Immediately somebody back on the stage gave the ropes a hard jerk and the curtains opened wide.

Of all things! An apple crate right in the middle of the stage with hay sticking out at the top and on all sides! I couldn't imagine why we needed hay at church.

Bess and Jim-Bo were sitting there beside the hay box, their hands folded as if for saying prayers. They weren't praying, though. They weren't moving their lips or keeping their eyes closed. They were just gazing down into the straw. "Mama," I whispered, "what's down in the box?"

"Sh-sh! Pay attention to Captain Jones so you can understand the pageant."

I started to listen to him. Then I happened to glance toward the far side of the stage. I was glad I did! There came all the school girls-Mierd and Irene and Sally and all the rest-every one dressed up like an angel with pretty shining wings. And right behind the girls were Wiley and Wallace Goode and the Hansen boys. But they didn't have on wings. They were just toting little pasteboard sheep, gray and droopy, and long crooked sticks.

Slowly the angels and the sheep boys circled around behind Bess and Jim-Bo, and every last one of them leaned their heads over to look down in the hay.

"Mama, there's something down in that box!"

"Sh-sh, Bandershanks. If you can't see, why here, stand up on the bench a minute."

I stood on tiptoe and stretched my neck. "It's a baby, Mama!"

"I know."

"He's asleep!"

"Be quiet, Bandershanks, and sit back down."

"Mama, how come the baby's in the hay?"

"Hon, the baby is like the Little Lord Jesus."

I stood up again to look.

"He's got red hair! Mama, that's Miss Ophelia's baby! He-"

We heard a big commotion outside, and everybody turned toward the back door. Mister Goode opened the door. But instead of going outside, he beckoned for whoever was at the doorsteps to come into the church.

Three curious-looking men filed in, one close behind the other. They marched, clomp, clomp, straight up on the stage.

"Look, Nannie," Papa whispered, "now we know why Lida Belle bought that calico!"

"I declare to my soul, Jodie. I can't believe it!"

The men had on the most peculiar clothes I'd ever seen: long, flowing robes that dragged to the floor; high, bespangled headgear that reached halfway to the ceiling. They looked a good bit like the kings in my storybook. That's what they were! Real live kings! But where did they come from?

I jumped up to see what they would do with the pretty sparkling chests they were toting. These might be three more presents to put on the tree for somebody. No. The kings didn't even look at the Christmas tree.

They lined up in a straight row in front of the sleeping baby.

Then the one who wore the purple robe nodded to the one in yellow. He, in turn, cut his eyes around toward the one wearing red. All together, the three bowed themselves down to the floor and lifted up the three golden chests.

I noticed that the big king men all had on regular high-top shoes just like Papa's. I looked up at their faces.

"Mama! They ain't no kings! That's them bad Bailey-"

"Hush!" Mama clamped her hand across my lips and pulled me down into her lap. "Tonight, hon, they're kings, the Orient Kings. You listen to Captain Jones."

I had forgotten all about him. He was standing up there in front of Aunt Vic and the lamp, still reading, his white beard quivering.

...they saw the young child with Mary his mother, and fell down, and worshipped him: and when they had opened their treasures, they presented unto him gifts; gold, and frankincense, and myrrh.

Captain Jones stopped. He closed the Bible. Still, n.o.body moved or said a word.

Then Aunt Vic gave a quick motion with her hand. The curtains went together, and such noisy scrambling and talking broke out back on the stage that both Aunt Vic and Mister Shepherd had to hurry behind the curtains to quiet the school children.

"Now is it time for our presents, Mama?"