"A shepherd lay upon a broad stone on the hillside; above him spread an
olive-tree, old, ragged, and gloomy; but now it swayed its rusty branches
majestically in the shifting air of night. The shepherd's name was Benoni.
Wearied with long watching, he had fallen asleep; his crook had slipped
from his hand. Upon the hillside, too, slept the shepherd's flock. I had
counted them again and again; I had stolen across their gentle faces and
brought them pleasant dreams of green pastures and of cool water-brooks. I
had kissed old Benoni, too, as he lay slumbering there; and in his dreams
he seemed to see Israel's King come upon earth, and in his dreams he
murmured the promised Messiah's name.

"'Ah, is it you, little moonbeam?' quoth the violets. 'You have come in
good time. Nestle here with us, and see wonderful things come to pass.'

"'What are these wonderful things of which you speak?' I asked.

"'We heard the old olive-tree telling of them to-night,' said the violets.
'"Do not go to sleep, little violets," said the old olive-tree, "for this
is Christmas night, and the Master shall walk upon the hillside in the
glory of the midnight hour." So we waited and watched; one by one the
lambs fell asleep; one by one the stars peeped out; the shepherd nodded
and crooned and crooned and nodded, and at last he, too, went fast asleep,
and his crook slipped from his keeping. Then we called to the old
olive-tree yonder, asking how soon the midnight hour would come; but all
the old olive-tree answered was "Presently, presently," and finally we,
too, fell asleep, wearied by our long watching, and lulled by the rocking
and swaying of the old olive-tree in the breezes of the night.'

"'But who is this Master?' I asked.