And now comes the turn of the feathered wretches. They must have
grain, of course, so they can soil the tin roof for me. Such is
life! The church wardens pay for it, so it's not my affair. But if
I were to ask for an extra shilling two in wages--that they
couldn't afford. That wouldn't be seen! But when one sticks out a
grain-sheaf on a pole once a year, it looks generous. Ah, that one
is a fine fellow!--and generosity is a virtue. Now, if we were to
share and share alike, I should get back my porridge, which I gave
to the elf. [Shakes sheaf and gathers the grain into a bowl.]

A VOICE. He robs Christmas! He robs Christmas!

OLD MAN. Now I'll put this thing on the pole so that it will look
like a symbol, and as a symbol it will also be of service--for it
shows what is not to be found within. [He puts sheaf through window
and hangs it on pole, then shakes his fist at town below.] Oh, you
old human pit down there! I spit on you! [Spits through window;
comes down and sees the burning candle before the Virgin's
picture.] This must be the boy's doings! The times are not such
that one burns up candles needlessly. [Snuffs out light and puts
the candle into his pocket.]

A VOICE. Woe! Woe! [Head of Virgin shakes three times and a bright
ray of light darts out from the head.]

OLD MAN. [Shrinking.] Is hell let loose to-night?

A VOICE. Heaven!

OLD MAN. Pehr, Pehr! Where are you? My eyes! Light the candles--My