Part 2 (2/2)

[5] A legendary figure of a snow-covered bogie, who comes down to the villages at Christmas-time and runs away with the children.

And they crept back into the kitchen, beside the fire.

And the black man stood outside the door, tugging at the string of his twirling star, and sang through his nose:

Come, star, come, star, you must not so still stand!

You must go with me to Bethlehem Land, To Bethlehem, that comely city, Where Mary sits with her Babe on her knee....

Along the country-roads, the farmhouses stood snowed in, with black window-shutters, which showed dark against the walls and shut in the light, and stumpy chimneys, with thick smoke curling from them. Indoors, there was no seeing clearly: the lamp hung from the ceiling in a ring of steam and smoke and everything lay black and tumbled. In the hearth, the yule-log lay blazing. The farmer's wife baked waffles and threw them in batches on the straw-covered floor.

In one corner, under the light and wound from head to foot in tobacco-smoke, were the farm-hands, playing cards. They sat wrapped up in their game, bending over their little table, very quiet. Now and then came a half-oath and the thud of a fist on the table and then again peaceful shuffling and stacking and playing of their cards.

The Freezyman sat in the midst of the children, who listened open-mouthed to his tale of _The Mighty Hunter_.

His star stood in the corner.

Later, the big table was drawn out and supper served. All gathered round and sat down and ate. First came potatoes and pork, red kale and pigs'

chaps, then stewed apples and sausages ... and waffles, waffles, waffles.

They drank beer out of little gla.s.s mugs. The table was cleared, coffee poured out, spirits fetched from the cupboard and gin burnt with sugar.

Then the chairs were pushed close, right round the hearth, and Maarten stood up, took his star, smoothed his long beard and, keeping time by tugging the string of his star, droned out:

On Christmas night Is Jesus born To fight our fight Against the night Of Satan and his devil-sp.a.w.n.

And a manger is His cot And all humble is His lot; _So, mortal, make you humble, too, To serve Him Who thus served you_.

Three wise men and each a king Come to make Him offering; Gold, frankincense and myrrh they bring.

Angels sweet Kiss His feet, As they sing: ”Hail, Lord and King!”

Telling all mankind the story Of His wonder and His glory; _So, mortal, make you humble, too, To serve Him Who thus served you_.

All else was still. The men sat drinking their hot gin, the children listened with their heads on one side and the farmer's wife, with her hands folded over her great lap, sat crying.

The door opened and the Kings stood in the middle of the floor. They were white with snow and their faces blue with cold; the ice hung from Grendel's moustache. They looked hard under their hats at the table, the hearth and the little gla.s.ses and at Maarten, who was still standing up.

Wulf made his star turn, Top banged his rumble-pot to time and they sang:

Three Kings came out of the East; 'Twas to comfort Mary....

When the song was ended, each got two little gla.s.ses; then they could go.

Grendel cursed aloud.

”That d.a.m.ned hill-devil swallows it all up,” muttered Wulf.

And they went off through the snow.

The others sang and played and played cards for ever so long and 'twas late when Maarten took his star and, with a ”Good-night till next year,”

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