"Well, children, you shall hear it, but we must never waste the
daylight again in this way. Pick up your ball, Gretel, and let
your sock grow as I talk. Opening your ears needn't shut your
fingers. Saint Nicholas, you must know, is a wonderful saint.
He keeps his eye open for the good of sailors, but he cares most
of all for boys and girls. Well, once upon a time, when he was
living on the earth, a merchant of Asia sent his three sons to a
great city, called Athens, to get learning."

"Is Athens in Holland, Mother?" asked Gretel.

"I don't know, child. Probably it is."

"Oh, no, Mother," said Hans respectfully. "I had that in my
geography lessons long ago. Athens is in Greece."

"Well," resumed the mother, "what matter? Greece may belong to
the king, for aught we know. Anyhow, this rich merchant sent his
sons to Athens. While they were on their way, they stopped one
night at a shabby inn, meaning to take up their journey in the
morning. Well, they had very fine clothes--velvet and silk, it
may be, such as rich folks' children all over the world think
nothing of wearing--and their belts, likewise, were full of
money. What did the wicked landlord do but contrive a plan to
kill the children and take their money and all their beautiful
clothes himself. So that night, when all the world was asleep,
he got up and killed the three young gentlemen."

Gretel clasped her hands and shuddered, but Hans tried to look as