That was the first of many open-air rehearsals, transferred, when the weather grew colder, to Willie Giertz's, where there were no near neighbors to whom the portentous secret might leak out. There was not one defective voice in the cla.s.s save Harry's, and he was at first a puzzle; but that difficulty vanished when it was learned that his fondest ambition was satisfied by striking the tuning-fork. Thereafter all went smoothly, with much enthusiasm and a world of mystery.

When the program was complete, they had by heart six songs: "While shepherds watched their flocks by night," "Away in a manger," "We three kings of Orient are," "Hark! the herald angels sing," "There came three kings ere break of day," and last, but best, because it seemed especially made for them, the song that began:--

"O little town of Bethlehem, How still we see thee lie!

Above thy deep and dreamless sleep The silent stars go by."

And so at length came Christmas eve. Little eyes were closing tight in determined efforts to force the sleep that would make the time till morning so much shorter. But in Bethlehem Center were six boys who, it is safe to say, were thinking less of the morrow's gifts than of the morning's plan; for preparations for early rising had been as elaborate as if it were fourth of July, and there was a solemn agreement that not one present should be looked at until after their return.

Gertrude had fallen asleep thinking of the letter beneath her pillow, promising her return to college at the beginning of next term; but at the first tinkle of her alarm-clock she was up, and, dressing by candlelight, went softly down the stairs and out into the keen air of the morning. The stars were still bright overhead, and there was no light in the east; but Gertrude Windsor was not the first abroad; for at the gate Eddie, the two w.i.l.l.i.e.s, and little Phil stood waiting, and already Harry and Charlie were seen coming at top speed.

"Are we all here?" asked Eddie in a stage whisper; and the other boys huddled close together, and wriggled with suppressed excitement.

"Yes," answered Gertrude. "Which place is first?"

"Mr. McKenzie's," announced Charlie, whose part it was to lay out the route; and, crossing the road, they pa.s.sed through the parsonage gate.

Beneath the study windows, Harry, at a given signal, struck the tuning-fork against his boot heel, Gertrude gave the key, and then, like one, there rose to greet the dawning of another Christmas day those clear young voices:--

"Hark! the herald angels sing, 'Glory to the new-born King; Peace on earth and mercy mild, G.o.d and sinners reconciled.'"

There were sounds from within before they had finished the first stanza; but when, after the "Amen," the pastor started to open a window, the boys were too quick for him. There was a volley of "Merry Christmas," and his answer reached only the rearguard tumbling over the picket fence.

Beneath the bare apple-tree boughs in Harold Thornton's yard, Charlie, Eddie, and little Phil sang, "We three kings of Orient are," while the others joined in the chorus. At the song's close, the superintendent, swifter of foot than the pastor, overtook them with a great box of candy.

Tears came into the eyes of Mrs. Martin as, watching beside her sick child, she heard again the story of the Babe "away in a manger, no crib for his bed." Old Uncle King forgot for a moment his vexing troubles as he listened to the admonition to "rest beside the weary road and hear the angels sing."

Mrs. Fenny cried, as sick people will, when she heard the boys reiterate the sweet, triumphant notes.

So from house to house the singers went, pausing at one because of sickness, at another because those within were lonely, at some for love, as they had serenaded the pastor and the superintendent, and bringing to each some new joy.

The stars were fading out, and they had started to return. On their side of the street was the post-office, and opposite them was the saloon, with its gaudy gilt sign, "Tim's Place." Little Phil was behind Gertrude; and as they pa.s.sed that building,--it was home to him--his hand just touched her sleeve.

"Do you think," he whispered, and she could see the pitiful quiver of his chin as he spoke--"do you suppose--we could sing one for m' father?"

Tears filled Gertrude's eyes; and had she not known boys so well, she would have stooped and caught him in her arms.

"Why, surely," she answered. "Which one do you think he would like best?"

Phil had shrunk behind her, and beneath the gaze of the other boys his eyes were those of a little hunted animal at bay. "Bethlehem," he said, huskily.

And when Harry had struck the tuning-fork, they began to sing together,--

"O little town of Bethlehem, How still we see thee lie!

Above thy deep and dreamless sleep The silent stars go by."

The twenty-fourth had been a good day for business in Tim Shartow's place.

He had had venison for free lunch; two mandolin and guitar players had been there all the evening; and there was more than two hundred dollars in the till. But now, in the quiet of the early morning, as he sat alone, the reaction had come. He remembered how Rob MacFlynn had had too much, and gone home maudlin to the wife who had toiled all day at the wash-tub. He thought of the fight Joe Frier and Tom Stacey had had. And--he did not drink much himself; he despised a drunkard--and these things disgusted him.

There was little Phil, too,--"the saloon-keeper's boy,"--and that cut deep.

Wouldn't it pay better, in the long run--and then the music floated softly in.

He did not hear the words at first, but he had a good ear,--it was the singing that had brought him, as a boy, into the beer-gardens,--and, stepping to the window, he listened, all unseen by those without. There the words reached him:--

"How silently, how silently, The wondrous gift is given!

So G.o.d imparts to human hearts The blessings of his heaven.

No ear may hear his coming, But in this world of sin Where meek souls will receive him"--

and until they sang the "Amen," Tim Shartow never stirred from the window.

The storm that had been threatening all day had descended. Without, a blizzard was raging; but within, beside his study fire, the little ones tucked away in bed up-stairs, and a book in his hand, the Reverend McKenzie could laugh at weather. A knock at that hour surprised him; but when he saw who stood upon the threshold, he knew how the saloon-keeper felt when he posted his bills so many months before.

"Good evening, Mr. Shartow," he said. "Won't you come in?"

The face of his visitor was tense and haggard; for the struggle had lasted the day long.

"I've come for help," he answered, shortly. "I guess it's the kind you can give, all right."

For a moment the pastor searched his face. "G.o.d bless you!" he exclaimed.

"Come in, come in."

And so was wrought again, before the close of the day that had been ushered in by the singing of the carols, the ever new miracle of Christmas; for G.o.d's gift to men had been again accepted, and into another heart made meek and ready to receive him the dear Christ had entered.--_Frederick Hall, in Christian Endeavor World._

STANDING BEAR'S SPEECH

The first time an Indian was permitted to appear in court in this country and have his rights tried, was in the year 1897. Previous to this every Indian in the United States was subject to the orders of the Secretary of the Interior. If he happened to be a man of a tyrannical nature, the Indians fared hard. One Secretary of the Interior at the point of the bayonet had caused all the Poncas Indians to be driven from northern Nebraska down to Indian Territory, depriving them of lands to which they held government deeds. They were left in the new country for months without rations, and more than one third of them died. Among these was the son of Standing Bear. The old chief refused to have the boy buried in the strange country, and, gathering about thirty members of his tribe together, he started for their ancient hunting-grounds, intending to bury his boy where generations of the Poncas chiefs lay.

The Secretary of the Interior heard of the runaways, and through the War Department telegraphed to General Crook, of Omaha, to arrest the Indians, and return them to Indian Territory. So General Crook arrested Standing Bear and his followers, and took them all, with the old wagon that contained the body of the dead boy, down to Omaha.

Standing Bear told his story to the general, who was already familiar with many wrongs that had been committed against the Indians, and who was indignant at their treatment. He detained the Indians at Omaha until he consulted with a Mr. Tibbies, an editor of a newspaper. They agreed to espouse the cause of the Indians, securing to Standing Bear a trial in the United States court. It was the most notable trial ever brought in the West, and, in fact, the scope was as wide as any ever tried in this country; for upon its decision one hundred thousand persons were made citizens.

Mr. Tibbles, who attended every session of the court, describes what took place, in the following words:--

"The court-room was crowded with fashionably dressed women; and the clergy, which had been greatly stirred by the incident, were there in force.

Lawyers, every one in Nebraska, and many from the big Eastern cities; business men; General Crook and his staff in their dress uniforms (this was one of the few times in his life that Crook wore full dress in public); and the Indians themselves, in their gaudy colors. The court-room was a galaxy of brilliancy.

"On one side stood the army officers, the brilliantly dressed women, and the white people; on the other was standing Bear, in his official robes as chief of the Poncas, and with him were his leading men. Far back in the audience, shrinking from observation, was an Indian girl, who afterward became famous as a lecturer in England and America. She was later known on both continents by a translation of her Indian name, In-sta-the-am-ba, Bright Eyes.

"Attorney Poppleton's argument was carefully prepared, and consumed sixteen hours in the delivering, occupying the attention of the court for two days.

On the third day Mr. Webster spoke for six hours. And during all the proceedings, the court-room was packed with the beauty and culture of the city.

"Toward the close of the trial, the situation became tense. As the wrongs inflicted on the Indians were described by the attorneys, indignation was often at white heat, and the judge made no attempt to suppress the applause which broke out from time to time. For the department, Mr. Lambertson made a short address, but was listened to in complete silence.

"It was late in the afternoon when the trial drew to a close. The excitement had been increasing, but it reached a height not before attained when Judge Dundy announced that Chief Standing Bear would be allowed to make a speech in his own behalf. Not one in the audience besides the army officers and Mr. Tibbies had ever heard an oration by an Indian. All of them had read of the eloquence of Red Jacket and Logan, and they sat there wondering if the mild-looking old man, with the lines of suffering and sorrow on his brow and cheek, dressed in the full robes of an Indian chief, could make a speech at all. It happened that there was a good interpreter present--one who was used to 'chief talk.'

"Standing Bear arose. Half facing the audience, he held out his right hand, and stood motionless so long that the stillness of death which had settled down on the audience, became almost unbearable. At last, looking up at the judge, he said:--