exchanged his long boots for a pair of easy slippers.

Over the fireplace hung a bunch of crimson toyone berries and a branch
of hemlock, which Crescimir had hung there to mark the holiday. He did
not sit down at once to his meal, but stood, leaning against the
chimney piece, meditatively picking off bits of the hemlock and
throwing them into the fire where they crackled with a merry noise and
blazed up, scenting the room with their fragrance of the forest.

As he threw the bits into the fire he sang that melody which the
Illyrian children sing when bearing home their Christmas trees, found
always in the deep forests; it was a song dear to him and the words
brought up memories of all his happy home life and he grew sad as he
thought of the lonely present.


"Deep in the wilds of Illyria's mountains
Under a hemlock tree,
Good Spirits buried a wonderful treasure,
Long years ago for me.
There in the gloom by a snow-born fountain
We found the hemlock tree,
Bore it away with loud notes of pleasure,
Hearts overrunning with glee.
Here is my hemlock tree
Christchild kiss it for me,
Make every branch bear
A gift that is fair,
This glossy-leaved hemlock tree,
Evergreen hemlock tree.