"Shall I give you ten golden words for a Christmas-gift? Will you hide them in your heart, and be happy?"
"I will," answered Cristobal.
"They are these," said the Child with a voice of wondrous sweetness: "Pray for them which despitefully use you and persecute you."
Cristobal repeated the words, a soft light stealing over his face. "I will remember," he said, looking up to meet the pleading eyes of the Child: but, lo! the whole face had melted into the aureola; nothing was left but light. Yet Cristobal was filled with a new joy; and, as he opened his eyes, his dream—if dream it were—changed, becoming as sweet and solemn as a prayer. It seemed to him that the roof of the cottage glittered with stars, and was no longer a roof, but the boundless sky; and, afar off, like remem-
