It was Christmas Eve and although it was still afternoon,
lights had begun to appear in the shops and houses of the little Russian
village, for the short winter day was nearly over. Excited children scurried
indoors and now only muffled sounds of chatter and laughter escaped from closed
shutters.
Old Papa Panov, the village shoemaker, stepped outside his
shop to take one last look around. The sounds of happiness, the bright lights
and the faint but delicious smells of Christmas cooking reminded him of past
Christmas times when his wife had still been alive and his own children little.
Now they had gone. His usually cheerful face, with the little laughter wrinkles
behind the round steel spectacles, looked sad now. But he went back indoors
with a firm step, put up the shutters and set a pot of coffee to heat on the
charcoal stove. Then, with a sigh, he settled in his big armchair.
Papa Panov did not often read, but tonight he pulled down
the big old family Bible and, slowly tracing the lines with one forefinger, he
read again the Christmas story. He read how Mary and Joseph, tired by their
journey to Bethlehem, found no room for them at the inn, so that Mary's little
baby was born in the cowshed.
"Oh, dear, oh, dear!" exclaimed Papa Panov,
"if only they had come here! I would have given them my bed and I could
have covered the baby with my patchwork quilt to keep him warm."
He read on about the wise men who had come to see the baby
Jesus, bringing him splendid gifts. Papa Panov's face fell. "I have no
gift that I could give him," he thought sadly.
Then his face brightened. He put down the Bible, got up, and
stretched his long arms to the shelf high up in his little room. He took down a
small, dusty box and opened it. Inside was a perfect pair of tiny leather
shoes. Papa Panov smiled with satisfaction. Yes, they were as good as he had
remembered--the best shoes he had ever made. "I should give him
those," he decided, as he gently put them away and sat down again.
He was feeling tired now, and the further he read the
sleeper he became. The print began to dance before his eyes so that he closed
them, just for a minute. In no time at all Papa Panov was fast asleep.
And as he slept he dreamed. He dreamed that someone was in
his room and he know at once, as one does in dreams, who the person was. It was
Jesus. "You have been wishing that you could see me, Papa Panov." he
said kindly. "Then look for me tomorrow. It will be Christmas Day and I
will visit you. But look carefully, for I shall not tell you who I am."
When at last Papa Panov awoke, the bells were ringing out
and a thin light was filtering through the shutters. "Bless my soul!"
said Papa Panov. "It's Christmas Day!"
He stood up and stretched himself for he was rather stiff.
Then his face filled with happiness as he remembered his dream. This would be a
very special Christmas after all, for Jesus was coming to visit him. How would
he look? Would he be a little baby, as at that first Christmas? Would he be a
grown man, a carpenter--or the great King that he is, God's Son? He must watch
carefully the whole day through so that he recognized him however he came.
Papa Panov put on a special pot of coffee for his Christmas
breakfast, took down the shutters and looked out of the window. The street was
deserted, no one was stirring yet. No one except the road sweeper. He looked as
miserable and dirty as ever, and well he might! Whoever wanted to work on
Christmas Day--and in the raw cold and bitter freezing mist of such a morning?
Papa Panov opened the shop door, letting in a thin stream of
cold air. "Come in!" he shouted across the street cheerily.
"Come in and have some hot coffee to keep out the cold!"
The sweeper looked up, scarcely able to believe his ears. He
was only too glad to put down his broom and come into the warm room. His old
clothes steamed gently in the heat of the stove and he clasped both red hands
round the comforting warm mug as he drank.
Papa Panov watched him with satisfaction, but every now and
then his eyes strayed to the window. It would never do to miss his special
visitor.
"Expecting someone?" the sweeper asked at last. So
Papa Panov told him about his dream.
"Well, I hope he comes," the sweeper said.
"You've given me a bit of Christmas cheer I never expected to have. I'd
say you deserve to have your dream come true." And he actually smiled.
When he had gone, Papa Panov put on cabbage soup for his
dinner, then went to the door again, scanning the street. He saw no one. But he
was mistaken. Someone was coming.
The girl walked so slowly and quietly, hugging the walls of
shops and houses, that it was a while before he noticed her. She looked very
tired and she was carrying something. As she drew nearer he could see that it
was a baby, wrapped in a thin shawl. There was such sadness in her face and in
the pinched little face of the baby, that Papa Panov's heart went out to them.
"Won't you come in," he called, stepping outside
to meet them. "You both need a warm place by the fire and a rest."
The young mother let him shepherd her indoors and to the
comfort of the armchair. She gave a big sigh of relief.
"I'll warm some milk for the baby," Papa Panov
said, "I've had children of my own--I can feed her for you." He took
the milk from the stove and carefully fed the baby from a spoon, warming her
tiny feet by the stove at the same time.
"She needs shoes," the cobbler said.
But the girl replied, "I can't afford shoes, I've got
no husband to bring home money. I'm on my way to the next village to get
work."
Suddenly a thought flashed through Papa Panov's mind. He
remembered the little shoes he had looked at last night. But he had been
keeping those for Jesus. He looked again at the cold little feet and made up
his mind.
"Try these on her," he said, handing the baby and
the shoes to the mother. The beautiful little shoes were a perfect fit. The
girl smiled happily and the baby gurgled with pleasure.
"You have been so kind to us," the girl said, when
she got up with her baby to go. "May all your Christmas wishes come
true!"
But Papa Panov was beginning to wonder if his very special
Christmas wish would come true. Perhaps he had missed his visitor? He looked
anxiously up and down the street. There were plenty of people about but they
were all faces that he recognized. There were neighbors going to call on their
families. They nodded and smiled and wished him Happy Christmas! Or beggars--and Papa Panov hurried indoors to fetch them hot soup and a generous hunk of
bread, hurrying out again in case he missed the Important Stranger.
When Papa Panov next went to the door and strained his eyes,
he could no longer make out the passers-by. most were home and indoors by now
anyway. He walked slowly back into his room at last, put up the shutters, and
sat down wearily in his armchair. So it had been just a dream after all. Jesus
had not come.
Then all at once he knew that he was no longer alone in the
room.
This was not dream for he was wide awake. At first he seemed
to see before his eyes the long stream of people who had come to him that day.
He saw again the old road sweeper, the young mother and her baby and the
beggars he had fed. As they passed, each whispered, "Didn't you see me,
Papa Panov?"
"Who are you?" he called out, bewildered.
Then another voice answered him. It was the voice from his
dream--the voice of Jesus.
"I was hungry and you fed me," he said. "I
was naked and you clothed me. I was cold and you warmed me. I came to you today
in every one of those you helped and welcomed."
Then all was quiet and still. Only the sound of the big
clock ticking. A great peace and happiness seemed to fill the room, overflowing
Papa Panov's heart until he wanted to burst out singing and laughing and
dancing with joy.
"So he did come after all!" was all that he said.
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