‘What a fool!’ thought his comrade.

When they came to the village, his comrade said to him,

‘You have the child, therefore give me the cloak.’

But he answered him:

‘No, for the cloak is neither mine nor yours, but the child’s only.’

And he went to his own house and knocked.

When his wife opened the door and saw her husband, she put her arms round his neck and kissed him. Then she took from his back the bundle of faggots, and brushed the snow off his boots.

But he said to her,

‘I found something in the forest. Look! It is here, take care of it.’

‘What is it?’ his wife cried. ‘Show it to me, we are poor, we need many things.’

And he drew the cloak back, and showed her the child.

‘Oh God!’ she murmured, ‘have we not children of our own? Why do you bring changelings[8] here? And who knows if it will not bring us bad fortune? And how shall we take care of it?’

She was wroth against him.

‘It is a Star-Child,’ he answered; and he told her the strange story.

But she mocked at him, and spoke angrily, and cried:

‘Our children are hungry. Why shall we feed someone’s child? Who will care for us? And who will give us food?’

‘God cares for the sparrows even, and feeds them,’ he answered.

‘Do not the sparrows die of hunger in the winter?’ she asked. ‘And is it not winter now?’

The man answered nothing, but did not come in.

A bitter wind from the forest came in through the open door. The woman trembled, and shivered, and said to him:

‘Will you close the door? A bitter wind comes into the house, and I am cold.’

‘It is always cold in a house where a heart is hard,’ he said.

And the woman answered him nothing, but crept closer to the fire.

Soon she turned round and looked at him, and her eyes were full of tears. And he came in swiftly, and placed the child in her arms. She kissed it, and laid it in a little bed  –  with the youngest of their own children.

In the morning, the Woodcutter took the curious cloak of gold and placed it in a great chest. His wife took a chain of amber[9] that was round the child’s neck and put it in the chest also.

So the Star-Child lived with the children of the Woodcutter, and sat at the same board with them, and was their playmate. Every year he became more beautiful. All those who dwelt in the village were surprised, because the children of the Woodcutter were swarthy and black-haired, and the Star-Child was white and delicate as sawn ivory. And his curls were like the rings of the daffodil. His lips, also, were like the petals of a red flower, and his eyes were like violets by a river of pure water. And his body was like the narcissus of a field.

But this child grew proud, and cruel, and selfish. He despised the children of the Woodcutter, and the other children of the village. He said that they were of mean parentage, while he was noble. He sprang from a Star! He called himself their master and them his servants. He had no pity for the poor, or for the blind or maimed. He cast stones at them and drive them out. None came twice to that village to ask for alms.

Indeed, he was very beautiful, and mocked at the weakly and made jest of them[10]. He loved himself only. In summer, when the winds were still, he liked to lie by the well in the priest’s orchard and look down at the marvel of his own face.

The Woodcutter and his wife often chided him, and said:

‘We did not leave you in the forest when you needed pity. Why are you so cruel to all who need pity?’

The old priest taught him the love of living creatures, and said: