THE SHEPHERD WHO 
 WATCHED BY NIGHT 
 
 THOMAS NELSON PAGE 
 
OInrttcU Hmueraitg ffiibtatg 
 
 atljaca, Sffm ^nrk 
 
 A.W.Wri^/it 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PS 2514.S5 1916 
 
 The shepherd who watched by night / 
 
 3 1924 022 147 502 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of this book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924022147502 
 
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 The Courage of 
 
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 The Success of Defeat 
 
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THE SHEPHERD WHO WATCHED 
 BY NIGHT 
 
"What are you doing here?" he asked 
 
THE SHEPHERD WHO 
 WATCHED BY NIGHT 
 
 BY 
 
 Thomas Nelson Page 
 
 NEW YOEK 
 
 Charles Scribner's Sons 
 
 1916 
 
Copyright, 1916, by Charles Scribner's Sout 
 
 Published Septeniber, 1916 
 
 l\b^O-bc\(^ 
 
THE SHEPHERD WHO 
 WATCHED BY NIGHT 
 
The Shepherd Who Watched 
 by Night 
 
 THE place had nothing distin- 
 guished or even perhaps dis- 
 tinctive about it except its 
 trees and the tapering spire of a 
 church lifting above them. It was 
 not unUke a hundred other places 
 that one sees as one travels through 
 the country. It called itself a town 
 but it was hardly more than a vil- 
 lage. One long street, now paved 
 on both sides, climbed the hill, 
 where the old post-road used to 
 run in from the country on one side 
 and out again on the other, passing 
 a dingy, large house with white- 
 washed pillars, formerly known as 
 [3] 
 
THE SHEPHERD WHO 
 
 the tavern, but now calling itself 
 "The Inn." This, with two or three 
 built-up cross streets and a short 
 street or two on either side of the 
 main street, constituted "the town." 
 A number of good houses, and a 
 few very good indeed, sat back in 
 yards dignified by fine trees. Three 
 or four churches stood on corners, 
 as far apart apparently as possible. 
 Several of them were much newer 
 and fresher painted than the one 
 with the spire and cross; but this 
 was the only old one and was gen- 
 erally spoken of as "The Church," 
 as the rector was meant when the 
 people spoke of "The Preacher." 
 It sat back from the street, and 
 near it, yet more retired, was an 
 old dwelling, also dilapidated, with 
 a wide porch, much decayed, and 
 
 [4] 
 
WATCHED BY NIGHT 
 
 an out-building or two to the side 
 and a little behind it, one of which 
 was also occupied as a dwelling. 
 The former was the rectory and the 
 smaller dwelling was where the old 
 woman lived who took care of the 
 rectory, cleaned up the two rooms 
 which the rector used since his wife's 
 death, and furnished him his meals. 
 It had begun only as a temporary 
 arrangement, but it had seemed to 
 work well enough and had gone on 
 now for years and no one thought 
 of changing it. If an idea of change 
 ever entered the mind of any one, 
 it was only when the old woman*s 
 grumbling floated out into the town 
 as to the tramps who would come 
 and whom the preacher would try 
 to take care of. Then, indeed, dis- 
 cussion would take place as to the 
 
 [5] 
 
THE SHEPHERD WHO 
 
 utter impracticability of the old 
 preacher and the possibility of get- 
 ting a younger and liver man in his 
 place. For the rest of the time the 
 people were hopeless. The old 
 preacher was past his prime; no one 
 else wanted him, and they could 
 not turn him out. He was saddled 
 on them for Ufe. They ran simply by 
 the old propulsion; but the church 
 was going down, they said, and 
 they were helpless. This had been 
 the case for years. And now as the 
 year neared its close it was the 
 same. 
 Such was the talk as they finished 
 dressing the church for Christmas 
 and made their way homeward, the 
 few who still took interest enough 
 to help in this way. They felt sorry 
 for the old man, who had been 
 
 [6] 
 
WATCHED BY NIGHT 
 
 much in their way during the dress- 
 ing, but sorrier for themselves. This 
 had been a few days before Christ- 
 mas and now it was Christmas eve. 
 The old rector sat at his table try- 
 ing to write his Christmas sermon. 
 He was hopelessly behindhand with 
 it. The table was drawn up close to 
 the worn stove, but the little bare 
 room was cold, and now and then 
 the old man blew on his fingers to 
 warm them, and pushed his feet 
 closer to the black hearth. Again 
 and again he took up his pen as if 
 to write, and as often laid it down 
 again. The weather was bitter and 
 the coal would not burn. There was 
 little to bum. Before him on the 
 table, amid a litter of other books 
 and papers, lay a worn bible and 
 prayer-book — open, and beside them 
 
 [7] 
 
THE SHEPHERD WHO 
 
 a folded letter on which his eye often 
 rested. Outside, the wind roared, 
 shaking the doors, rattling the win- 
 dows, and whistling at the key- 
 holes. Now and then the sound of 
 a passing vehicle was borne in on 
 the wind, and at intervals came the 
 voices of boys shouting to each 
 other as they ran by. The old man 
 did not hear the former, but when 
 the boys shouted he listened till 
 they had ceased and his thoughts 
 turned to the past and to the two 
 boys whom God had given him and 
 had then taken back to Himself. 
 His gray face wore a look of deep 
 concern, and, indeed, of dejection, 
 and his eye wandered once more to 
 the folded letter on the table. It 
 was signed "A Friend," and it was 
 this which was responsible for the 
 
 [8] 
 
WATCHED BY NIGHT 
 
 unwritten Christmas sermon. It was 
 what the world calls an anonymous 
 letter and, though couched in kindly 
 terms, it had struck a dagger into 
 the old man's heart. And yet he 
 could not but say that in tone and 
 manner it was a kind act. Certainly 
 it had told the truth and, if in tear- 
 ing a veil from his eyes it had 
 stunned him, why should he not 
 face the truth ! 
 
 He took up the letter again and 
 reread it, not that he needed to 
 read it, for he knew it by heart. 
 
 He reread it hoping to find some 
 answer to its plain, blunt, true 
 statements, but he found none. It 
 was all true, every word, from the 
 ominous beginning which stated that 
 the writer felt that he had "a clear 
 duty to perform," down to the close 
 [91 
 
THE SHEPHERD WHO 
 
 when with a protestation of good- 
 will he signed himself the old man's 
 "friend." 
 
 "You must see, unless you are 
 blind," ran the letter, "that your 
 church is running down, and unless 
 you get out and let the congrega- 
 tion secure a new and younger man, 
 there will soon be no congregation 
 at all left. No men come to church 
 any longer and many women who 
 used to come now stay away. You 
 are a good man, but you are a fail- 
 ure. Your usefulness is past." 
 
 Yes, it was true, he was a failure. 
 His usefulness was past. This was 
 the reason no Christmas things had 
 come this year — they wanted to let 
 him know. It pained him to think 
 it, and he sighed. 
 
 "You spend your time fooling 
 
 [10] 
 
WATCHED BY NIGHT 
 
 about a lot of useless things, visit- 
 ing people who do not come to 
 church, and you have turned the 
 rectory into a harbor for tramps," 
 continued the anonymous friend. 
 
 "You cannot preach any longer. 
 You are hopelessly behind the times. 
 People nowadays want no more doc- 
 trinal points discussed; they want 
 to hear Uve, up-to-date, practical 
 discourses on the vital problems of 
 
 the day — such as the Rev. Dr. 
 
 delivers. His church is full." This 
 also was true. He was no longer 
 able to preach. He had felt some- 
 thing of this himself. Now it came 
 home to him like a blow on the 
 head, and a deeper pain was the 
 conviction which, long hovering 
 about his heart, now settled and 
 took definite shape, that he ought 
 [11] 
 
THE SHEPHERD WHO 
 
 to get out. But where could he go? 
 He would have gone long since if 
 he had known where to go. He could 
 not go out and graze like an old 
 horse on the roadside. There was 
 no provision made for those like 
 him. No pensions were provided by 
 his church for old and disabled 
 clergymen, and the suggestion made 
 in the letter had no foundation in 
 his case. It ran, "You must or, at 
 least, you shoiild have saved some- 
 thing in all this time." 
 
 This sounded ahnost humorous, 
 and a wintry Uttle smile flickered 
 for a moment about the old man's 
 wrinkled mouth. His salary had 
 never been a thousand dollars, and 
 there were so many to give to. Of 
 late, it had been less than two- 
 thirds of this amount and not all 
 
 [12] 
 
WATCHED BY NIGHT 
 
 of this had been paid. The smile 
 died out and the old man's face 
 grew grave again as he tried to 
 figure out what he could do. He 
 thought of one or two old friends 
 to whom he could write. Possibly, 
 they might know of some country 
 parish that would be willing to take 
 him, though it was a forlorn hope. 
 If he could but hold on till they in- 
 vited him, it would be easier, for 
 he knew how difficult it was for a 
 clergyman out of a place to get a 
 call. People were so suspicious. Once 
 out, he was lost. 
 At the thought, a picture of a 
 Uttle plot amid the trees in the 
 small cemetery on the hill near the 
 town slipped into his mind. Three 
 little slabs stood there above three' 
 mounds, one longer than the others. 
 
 [13] 
 
THE SHEPHERD WHO 
 
 They covered all that was mortal 
 of what he had loved best on earth. 
 The old man sighed and his face in 
 the dim light took on an expres- 
 sion very far away. He drifted off 
 into a reverie. Ah, if they had only 
 been left to him, the two boys that 
 God had sent him and had then 
 taken back to Himself, and the good 
 wife who had borne up so bravely 
 till she had sunk by the wayside ! 
 If he were only with them ! He 
 used to be rebellious at the neglect 
 that left the drains so deadly, but 
 that was gone now. He leant for- 
 ward on his elbows and gradually 
 sUpped slowly to his knees. He was 
 on them a long time, and when he 
 tried to rise he was quite stiff; but 
 his face had grown tranquil. He had 
 been in high converse with the 
 [14] 
 
WATCHED BY NIGHT 
 
 blessed of God and his mind had 
 cleared. He had placed everything 
 in God's hands, and He had given 
 him light. He would wait until after 
 Christmas and then he would re- 
 sign. But he would announce it 
 next day. The flock there should 
 have a new and younger and abler 
 shepherd. This would be glad tid- 
 ings to them. 
 
 He folded up the letter and put it 
 away. He no longer felt woimded by 
 it. It was of God's ordaining and 
 was to be received as a kindness, a 
 ray of hght to show him the path 
 of duty. He drew his paper toward 
 him and, taking up his pen, began 
 to write rapidly and firmly. The 
 doubt was gone, the way was clear. 
 His text had come to his mind. 
 
 "And there were in the same coun- 
 
 [15] 
 
THE SHEPHERD WHO 
 
 try, shepherds abiding in the field, 
 keeping watch over their flock by 
 night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord 
 came upon them, and the glory of 
 the Lord shone round about them: 
 and they were sore afraid. And the 
 angel said unto them. Fear not: for 
 behold, I bring unto you good tid- 
 ings of great joy, which shall be to 
 all people. For unto you is born 
 this day in the City of David a 
 Saviour which is Christ the Lord. 
 And this shall be a sign unto you; 
 Ye shall find the Babe wrapped in 
 swaddling clothes lying in a man- 
 ger. 
 Unfolding the story, he told of the 
 darkness that had settled over Isra- 
 el under the Roman sway and the 
 formaUsm of the Jewish hierarchy 
 at the time of Christ's coming, draw- 
 
 [16] 
 
WATCHED BY NIGHT 
 
 ing from it the lesson that God still 
 had shepherds watching over His 
 flocks in the night to whom He 
 vouchsafed to send His heavenly 
 messengers. On and on he wrote, 
 picturing the divine mission of the 
 Redeemer and His power to save 
 souls, and dwelling on Christmas 
 as the ever-recurrent reminder of 
 **the tender mercy of our God 
 whereby the Day Spring from on 
 High hath visited us." 
 
 Suddenly he came to a pause. 
 Something troubled him. It flashed 
 bvef him that he had heard that a 
 woman in the town was very sick 
 and he had intended going to see 
 her. She had had a bad reputation; 
 but he had heard that she had re- 
 formed. At any rate she was ill. 
 He paused and deliberated. At the 
 
 [17] 
 
THE SHEPHERD WHO 
 
 moment the wind rattled the shut- 
 ters. She did not belong to his flock 
 or, so far as he knew, to any flock, 
 and once when he had stopped her 
 on the street and spoken to her of 
 her evil life, she had insulted him. 
 
 He turned back to his paper, pen 
 in hand; but it was borne in on him 
 that he was writing of watching 
 over the flock by night and here he 
 was neglecting one of his Father's 
 sheep. He laid aside his pen and, 
 rising, took down his old overcoat 
 and hat and stick, ht his lantern, 
 turned down his lamp, and shufiling 
 through the bare, narrow passage, 
 let himself out at the door. 
 
 As he came out on to the little 
 porch to step down to the walk, the 
 wind struck him fiercely and he had 
 some diflSculty in fastening the door 
 
 [18] 
 
WATCHED BY NIGHT 
 
 with its loose lock; but this done he 
 pushed forward. The black trees 
 swayed and creaked above him in 
 the high night wind, and fine par- 
 ticles of snow stung his withered 
 cheeks. He wondered if the shep- 
 herds in the fields ever had such a 
 night as this for their watch. He 
 remembered to have read that snow 
 fell on the mountains of Judsea. 
 
 At length he reached the little 
 house on a back street where he 
 had heard the sick woman hved. A 
 light ghmmered dimly in an upper 
 window and his knocking finally 
 brought to the door a woman who 
 looked after her. She was not in a 
 good humor at being disturbed at 
 that hour, for her rest had been 
 much broken of late; but she was 
 civil and invited him in. 
 
 [19] 
 
THE SHEPHERD WHO 
 
 In answer to his question of how 
 her patient was, she replied gloom- 
 ily: "No better; the doctor says she 
 can't last much longer. Do you want 
 to see her?" she added presently. 
 
 The old rector said he did, and she 
 waved toward the stair. "You can 
 walk up." 
 
 As they cUmbed the stair she added: 
 "She said you'd come if you knew." 
 The words made the old man warmer. 
 And when she opened the door of 
 the sick room and said, "Here's the 
 preacher, as you said," the faint 
 voice of the invalid murmuring j "I 
 hoped you'd come," made him feel 
 yet warmer. 
 
 He was still of some use even in 
 this parish. 
 
 'Whatever her face had been in the 
 past, illness and suffering had re- 
 
 [20] 
 
WATCHED BY NIGHT 
 
 fined it. He stayed there long, for 
 he found that she needed him. She 
 unburdened herself to him. She was 
 sorry she had been rude to him that 
 time. She had been a sinful woman. 
 She said she had tried of late to live 
 a good life, since that day he had 
 spoken to her, but she now found 
 that she had not. She had wanted 
 to be a beUever and she had gone 
 to hear him preach one day after 
 that, but now she did not seem to 
 believe anything. She wanted to re- 
 pent, but she could not feel. She 
 was in the dark, and she feared she 
 was lost. 
 
 The old man had taken his seat by 
 her side, and he now held her hand 
 and soothed her tenderly. 
 
 "Once, perhaps," he said doubt- 
 fully, "though God only knows that, 
 
 [21] 
 
THE SHEPHERD WHO 
 
 but certainly no longer. Christ died 
 for you. You say you wanted to 
 change, that you tried to ask God's 
 pardon and to hve a better life 
 even before you fell ill. Do you 
 think you could want this as much 
 as God wanted it.? He put the wish 
 into your heart. Do you think He 
 would now let you remain lost? 
 Why, He sent His Son into the 
 world to seek and to save the lost. 
 He has sent me to you to-night to 
 tell you that He has come to save 
 you. It is not you that can save 
 yourself, but He, and if you feel 
 that it is dark about you, never mind 
 — the path is still there. One of the 
 old Fathers has said that God some- 
 times puts His children to sleep in 
 the dark. He not only forgave the 
 Magdalen for her love of Him, but 
 
 [22] 
 
WATCHED BY NIGHT 
 
 He vouchsafed to her the first sight 
 of his face after His resurrection." 
 
 "I see," she said simply. 
 
 A Uttle later she dozed oflf, but 
 presently roused up again. A bell 
 was ringing somewhere in the dis- 
 tance. It was the ushering in of the 
 Christmas morn. 
 
 "What is that.?" she asked feebly. 
 
 He told her. 
 
 "I think if I were well, if I could 
 ever be good enough, I should like 
 to join the church," she said. "I re- 
 member being baptized — long ago." 
 
 "You have joined it," he replied. 
 
 Just then the nurse brought her a 
 glass. 
 
 "What is that?" she asked feebly. 
 
 "A little wine." She held up a 
 bottle in which a small quantity 
 remained. 
 
 [23] 
 
THE SHEPHERD WHO 
 
 It seemed to the old preacher a 
 sort of answer to his thought. "Have 
 you bread here?" he asked the 
 young woman. She went out and a 
 moment later brought him a piece 
 of bread. 
 
 He had often administered the 
 early communion on Christmas 
 morning, but never remembered a 
 celebration that had seemed to him 
 so real and satisfying. As he thought 
 of the saints departed this life in 
 the faith and fear of the Lord, they 
 appeared to throng about him as 
 never before, and among them were 
 the faces he had known and loved 
 best on earth. 
 
 It was toward morning when he 
 left. As he bade her good-by he 
 knew he should see her no more 
 this side of heaven. 
 
 [241 
 
WATCHED BY NIGHT 
 
 As he came out into the night the 
 snow was falling softly, but the. 
 wind had died down and he no 
 longer felt cold. The street was 
 empty, but he no longer felt lonely. 
 He seemed to have got nearer to 
 God's throne. 
 
 Suddenly, as he neared his house, 
 a sound fell on his ears. He stopped 
 short and listened. Could he have 
 been mistaken.? Could that- have 
 been a baby's cry ? There was no 
 dwelUng near but his own, and on 
 that side only the old and unoccu- 
 pied stable in the yard whence the 
 sound had seemed to come. A glance 
 at it showed that it was dark and 
 he was moving on again to the house 
 when the sound was repeated. This 
 time there was no doubt of it. A 
 baby's wail came clear on the silence 
 
 [25] 
 
THE SHEPHERD WHO 
 
 of the night from the unused stable. 
 A thought that it might be some 
 poor foundling flashed into his mind. 
 The old man turned and, stumbling 
 across the yard, went to the door. 
 
 "Who is here.?" he asked of the 
 dark. There was no answer, but the 
 child wailed again, and he entered 
 the dark building, asking again^ 
 "Who is here?" as he groped his 
 way forward. This time a voice al- 
 most inarticulate answered. Holding 
 his dim little lantern above his head, 
 he made his way inside, peering into 
 the darkness, and presently, in a 
 stall, on a lot of old litter, he de- 
 scried a dark and shapeless mass 
 from which the sound came. Mov- 
 ing forward, he bent down, with the 
 lantern held low, and the dark mass 
 gradually took shape as a woman's 
 
 [26] 
 
WATCHED BY NIGHT 
 
 form seated on the straw. A patch 
 of white, from which a pair of eyes 
 gazed up at him, became a face, and 
 below, a small bundle clasped to her 
 breast took on the lines of a babe. 
 
 "What are you doing here?" he 
 asked, breathless with astonishment. 
 She shook her head wearily, and her 
 lips moved as if to say: "I didn't 
 mean any harm." But no sound 
 came. She only tried to fold the 
 babe more warmly in her shawl. 
 He took ofiF his overcoat and wrapped 
 it around her. "Come," he said 
 firmly. "You must come with me," 
 he added kindly; then, as she did 
 not rise, he put out his hand to lift 
 her, but, instead, suddenly set down 
 the lantern and took the babe gently 
 in his arms. She let him take the 
 child, and rose slowly, her eyes still 
 
 [27] 
 
THE SHEPHERD WHO 
 
 on him. He motioned for her to take 
 the lantern and she did so. And they 
 came to the door. He turned up the 
 walk, the babe in his arms, and she 
 going before him with the lantern. 
 The ground was softly carpeted with 
 snow; the wind had died down, but 
 the clouds had disappeared and the 
 trees were all white, softly gleaming, 
 like dream-trees in a dreamland. 
 The old man shivered slightly, but 
 not now with cold. He felt as if he 
 had gone back and held once more 
 in his arms one of those babes he 
 had given back to God. He thought 
 of the shepherds who watched by 
 night on the Judsean hills. "It must 
 have been such a night as this," 
 he thought, as his eyes caught the 
 morning star, which appeared to 
 rest just over his home. 
 
 128] 
 
WATCHED BY NIGHT 
 
 When they reached his door he saw 
 that some one had been there in his 
 absence. A large box stood on the 
 httle porch and beside it a basket 
 filled with things. So he had not 
 been forgotten after all. The milk- 
 man also had called, and for his 
 customary small bottle of milk had 
 left one of double the usual size. 
 When he let himseU in at the door, 
 he took the milk with him. So the 
 shepherds might have done, he 
 thought. 
 
 It was long before he could get the 
 fire to burn; but in time this was 
 done; the room was warm and the 
 milk was warmed also. The baby 
 was quieted and was soon asleep in 
 its mother's lap, where she sat, still 
 hooded, before the stove. And as 
 the firelight fell from the open stove 
 
 [29] 
 
THE SHEPHERD WHO 
 
 on the child, in its mother's arms, 
 the old man thought of a little pic- 
 ture he had once seen in a shop 
 window. He had wanted to buy it, 
 but he had never felt that he could 
 gratify such a taste. There were too 
 many calls on him. Then, as the 
 young woman appeared overcome 
 with fatigue, the old man put her 
 with the child in the only bed in 
 the house that was ready for an 
 occupant and, returning to the little 
 living-room, ensconced himself in 
 his arm-chair by the stove. He had 
 meant to finish his sermon, but he 
 was conscious for the first time that 
 he was very tired; but he was also 
 very happy. When he awoke he 
 found that it was quite late. He had 
 overslept and though his breakfast 
 had been set out for him, he had 
 
 [30] 
 
WATCHED BY NIGHT 
 
 time only to make his toilet and to 
 go to church. The mother and child 
 were still asleep in his room, the 
 babe folded in her arm, and he 
 stopped only to gaze on them a 
 moment and to set the rest of the 
 milk and his breakfast where the 
 young mother could find it on awak- 
 ing. Then he went to church, tak- 
 ing his half-finished sermon in his 
 worn case. He thought with some 
 dismay that it was unfinished, but 
 the memory of the poor woman 
 and the midnight communion, and 
 of the young mother and her babe, 
 comforted him; so he plodded on 
 bravely. When he reached the church 
 it was nearly full. He had not had 
 such a congregation in a long time. 
 And they were all cheerful and 
 happy. The pang he had had as he 
 
 [31] 
 
THE SHEPHERD WHO 
 
 remembered that he was to an- 
 nounce his resignation that day was 
 renewed, but only for a second. 
 The thought of the babe and its 
 mother, warmed and fed in his ht- 
 tle home, drove it away. And soon 
 he began the service. 
 
 He had never had such a service. 
 It all appeared to him to have a 
 new meaning. He felt nearer to the 
 people in the pews than he ever re- 
 membered to have felt. They were 
 more than ever his flock and he 
 more than ever their shepherd. 
 More, he felt nearer to mankind, 
 and yet more near to those who 
 had gone before — the innumerable 
 company of the redeemed. They 
 were all about him, clad all in white, 
 ghstening Uke the sun. The heavens 
 seemed full of them. "When he turned 
 
 [38] 
 
WATCHED BY NIGHT 
 
 his eyes to the window, the whole 
 earth seemed white with them. The 
 singing sounded in his ears Hke the 
 choiring of angels. He was now in a 
 maze. He forgot the notice he had 
 meant to give and went straight 
 into his sermon, stumbUng a little 
 as he climbed the steps to the pul- 
 pit. He repeated the text and kept 
 straight on. He told the story of 
 the shepherds in the fields watching 
 their flocks when the Angel of the 
 Lord came upon them and told of 
 the Babe in the manger who was 
 Christ the Lord. He spoke for the 
 shepherds. He pictured the shep- 
 herds watching through the night 
 and made a plea for their loneliness 
 and the hardship of their lives. 
 They were very poor and ignorant. 
 But they had to watch the flock 
 
 [33] 
 
THE SHEPHERD WHO 
 
 and God had chosen them to be His 
 messengers. The wise men would 
 come later, but now it was the shep- 
 herds who first knew of the birth 
 of Christ the Lord. He was not 
 reading as was his wont. It was all 
 out of his heart and the eyes of all 
 seemed to be on him — of all in pews 
 and of all that innumerable white- 
 clad host about him. 
 
 He was not altogether coherent, 
 for he at times appeared to confuse 
 himself with the shepherds. He spoke 
 as if the message had come to him, 
 and after a while he talked of some 
 experiences he had had in finding a 
 child in a stable. He spoke as though 
 he had really seen it. "And now," 
 he said, "this old shepherd must 
 leave his flock, the message has 
 come for him." 
 
 [34] 
 
WATCHED BY NIGHT 
 
 He paused and looked down at his 
 sermon and turned the leaves slowly, 
 at first carefully and then almost 
 aimlessly. A breath of wind blew in 
 and a few leaves slid off the desk 
 and fluttered down to the floor. 
 
 "I have been in some fear lately," 
 he said, "but God has appeared to 
 make the way plain. A friend has 
 helped me, and I thank him." He 
 looked around and lost himself. "I 
 seem to have come to the end," he 
 said, smiUng simply with a soft, 
 childish expression stealing over and 
 lighting up his wan face. "I had 
 something more I wanted to say, 
 but I can't find it and — I can't re- 
 member. I seem too tired to re- 
 member it. I am a very old man 
 ■and you must bear with me, please, 
 while I try." He quietly turned and 
 
 [35] 
 
THE SHEPHERD WHO 
 
 walked down the steps, holding on 
 to the railing. 
 As he stooped to pick up a loose 
 sheet from the floor, he sank to his 
 knees, but he picked it up. "Here it 
 is," he said with a tone of reUef. "I 
 remember now. It is that there were 
 shepherds abiding in the fields, keep- 
 ing watch over their flocks by night, 
 and the light came upon them and 
 the glory of the Lord shone round 
 about them and they were sore 
 afraid, and the angel said unto them : 
 'Fear not, for behold, I bring unto 
 you good tidings of great joy which 
 shall be unto all people; for unto you 
 is bom this day in the city of David 
 a Saviour which is Christ the Lord.' " 
 
 They reached him as he sank down 
 
 and, Ufting him, placed him on a 
 
 [861 
 
WATCHED BY NIGHT 
 
 cushion taken from a pew. He was 
 babbling softly of a babe in a stable 
 and of the glory of the Lord that 
 shone round about them. "Don't 
 you hear them singing?" he said. 
 "You must sing too; we must all 
 join them." 
 
 At the suggestion of some one, a 
 woman's clear voice struck up, 
 
 "While shepherds watched their flocks by 
 night," 
 
 and they sang it through as well 
 as they could for sobbing. But be- 
 fore the hymn was ended the old 
 shepherd had joined the heavenly 
 choir and had gone away up into 
 heaven. 
 As they laid him in the little cham- 
 ber on the hill opening to the sun- 
 rise, the look on his face showed 
 
 [37] 
 
THE SHEPHERD WHO 
 
 that the name of that chamber was 
 Peace. 
 
 They talk of him still in his old 
 parish — of the good he did, and of 
 his peaceful death on the day that 
 of all the year signified Birth and 
 Life. 
 
 Nothing was ever known of the 
 mother and babe. Only there was a 
 rumor that one had been seen leav- 
 ing the house during the morning 
 and passing out into the white-clad 
 country. And at the little inn in the 
 town there was vague wonder what 
 had become of the woman and her 
 baby who had appUed for shelter 
 there the night before and had been 
 told that there was no place for her 
 there, and that she had better go 
 to the old preacher, as he took in 
 
 [38] 
 
WATCHED BY NIGHT 
 
 all the tramps. But in heaven it is 
 known that there was that Christ- 
 mas eve a shepherd who kept watch 
 over his flock by night. 
 
 [39: 
 
i : 
 
 Kr