In a moment he was beside her, and then he knew. There he lay,--their
little son. The angel's gift,--a wee cripple. Not a bone in all his
little body was straight and firm. Only his eyes were strangely
beautiful, and now they were filled with tears.

"It were better he had died, and thou, also, Christina," sobbed Hans.
"It were better we had all three died before this sorrow was brought
upon us." But Christina only wept.

So the years went by, and the baby lived and grew. It was always in
pain, but it seldom cried; and Christina could not be impatient when
she saw how uncomplaining the little child was.

When he was old enough she told him what she never told any one
before,--the story of the angel; and his eyes were more beautiful than
ever when she wept because she could not suffer it all alone, but must
see him suffer too. And while Hans scarcely noticed the boy, Christina
spent all her time thinking of him and teaching him, and together they
prayed to the white angel to bless them.

But as the years went on many men came to the forest and felled the
trees, not with axes but with huge saws; and so Hans was turned away,
for no one wanted a wood-chopper now. And so they were in great
trouble; and Hans grew rough and ill-tempered, and did not try to use
the saw, nor would he ask the men to let him work. He would only stand
idly by, and often Christina thought the blessings she prayed for were
turned to curses; but she never told the child her sorrow, and still
they prayed on to the white angel to bless them. When Christina saw
Hans would really do no work, she said no more, but sewed and spun for