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Speaker 1: Babushka. If you were a Russian child, you would not

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watch to see Santa Claus come down the chimney, but

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you would stand by the windows to catch a peep

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at poor Babushka as she hurries by. Who is Babushka?

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Is she Santa Claus's wife? No, indeed, she is only

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a poor little, crooked, wrinkled old woman who comes at

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Christmas time into everybody's house, who peeps into every cradle,

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turns back every cover lid, drops a tear on the

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baby's white pillow, and goes away very sorrowful. And not

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only at Christmas time, but through all the cold winter,

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and especially in March, when the wind blows loud and

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whistles and howls and dies away like a sigh. The

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Russian children hear the rustling step of the Babushka. She's

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always in a hurry. One hears her running fast along

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crowded streets and over quiet country fields. She seems to

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be out of breath and tired, and yet she hurries on.

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Whom is she trying to overtake? She scarcely looks at

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the little children as they press their rosy faces against

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the window pane. And whispered to each other. Is the

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Babushka looking for us? No, she will not stop. Only

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on Christmas Eve will she come upstairs into the nursery

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and give each little one a present. You must not

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think she leaves handsome gifts, such as Santa Claus brings

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for you. She does not bring bicycles to the boys

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or French dolls to the girls. She does not come

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in a gay little sleigh drawn by reindeer, but hobbling

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along on foot, and she leans on a crutch. She

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has her old apron filled with candy and cheap toys.

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And the children all love her dearly. They watch to

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see her come, and when one hears a rustling, he cries,

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lou the Babushka. Then all the others look. But one

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must turn one's head very quickly, or she vanishes. I

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never saw her myself. Best of all, she loves little babies,

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And often when the tired mothers sleep, she bends over

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their cradles, puts her brown wrinkled face down close to

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the pillow, and looks very sharply. What is she looking for?

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Ah that you can't guess unless you know her sad

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story long long ago. A great many yesterdays ago, the Babushka,

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who was even then an old woman, was busy sweeping

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her little hut. She lived in the coldest corner of

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cold Russia, and she lived alone in a lonely place

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where four wide roads met. These roads were at this

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time white with snow, for it was winter time. In

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the summer, when the fields were full of flowers and

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the air full of sunshine and singing birds, Babushka's home

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did not seem so very quiet. But in the winter,

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with only the snow flakes and the shy snow birds

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and the loud wind for company, the little old woman

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felt very cheerless. But she was a busy old woman,

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and as it was already twilight and her home but

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half swept, she felt in a great hurry to finish

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her work before bedtime. You must know that Babushka was

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poor and could not afford to do her work by

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candle light. Presently, down the widest and the lonesomest of

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the white roads, there appeared a long train of people coming.

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They were walking slowly and seemed to be asking each

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other questions as to which way they should take. As

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the procession came nearer, and finally stopped outside her little hut.

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Babushka was frightened at the splendor. There were three kings

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with crowns on their heads, and the jewels on the

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king's breastplates sparkled like sunlight. Their heavy fur cloaks were

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white with the falling snow flakes, and the queer humpy

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camels on which they rode looked white as milk in

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the snow storm. The harness on the camels was decorated

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with gold, and plates of silver adorned the saddles. The

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saddlecloths were of the richest Eastern stuffs, and all the

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servants had the dark eyes and hair of an Eastern people.

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The slaves carried heavy loads on their backs, and each

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of the three kings carried a present. One carried a beautiful,

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transparent jar, and in the fading light, Babushka could see

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in it a golden liquid, which she knew from its

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color must be Mrhr. Another had in his hand a

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richly woven bag, and it seemed to be heavy, as

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indeed it was, for it was full of gold. The

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third had a stone vase in his hand, and from

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the rich perfume which filled the snowy air, one could

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guess that vase to have been filled with incense. Babushka

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was terribly frightened, so she hid herself in her hut

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and let the servants knock a long time at her

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door before she dared to open it and answer their

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questions as to what road they should take to some

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far away town. You know, she had never studied a

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geography lesson in her life. She was old and stupid

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and scared. She knew the way across the fields to

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the nearest village, but she knew nothing else of all

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the wide world full of cities. The servants scolded, but

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the three kings spoke kindly to her and asked her

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to accompany them on their journey, that she might show

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them the way as far as she knew it. They

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told her in words so simple that she could not

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fail to understand, that they had seen a star in

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the sky, and they were following it to a little

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town where a young child lay. The snow was in

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the sky now, and the star was lost out of

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their sight. Who is the child, asked the old woman.

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He is a king, and we go to worship him.

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They answered, These presents of gold frankencense and myrrh are

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for him. When we find him, we will take the

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crowns off our heads and lay them at his feet.

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Come with us, Babushka, what do you suppose. Shouldn't you

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have thought the poor little woman would have been glad

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to leave her desolate home on the plains to accompany

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these kings on their journey. But the foolish woman shook

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her head. No, the night was dark and cheerless, and

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her little home was warm and cozy. She looked up

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into the sky and the star was nowhere to be seen. Besides,

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wanted to put her hut in order. Perhaps she would

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be ready to go tomorrow, But the three kings could

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not wait, so when tomorrow's sun rose, they were far

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ahead on their journey. It seemed like a dream to

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poor Babushka, for even the tracks of the camel's feet

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were covered by the deep white snow. Everything was the

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same as usual, And to make sure that the night's

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visitors had not been a fancy, she found her old

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broom hanging on a peg behind the door, where she

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had put it when the servants knocked. Now that the

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sun was shining, and she remembered the glitter of the gold,

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and the smell of the sweet gums, and the mirrhr.

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She wished she had gone with the travelers, and she

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thought a great deal about the little baby the three

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Kings had gone to worship. She had no children of

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her own, nobody loved her. Ah, if only she had gone.

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The more she brooded on the thought, the more miserable

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she grew, till the very sight of her home became

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hateful to her. It is a dreadful feeling to realize

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that one has lost a chance of happiness. There is

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a feeling called remorse that can gnaw like a sharp

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little tooth. Babushka felt this little tooth cut into her

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heart every time she remembered the visit of the three Kings.

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After a while, the thought of that little child became

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her first thought at waking and her last at night.

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One day, she shut the door of her house forever

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and set out on a long journey. She had no

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hope of overtaking the three kings, but she longed to

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find the child, that she too might love and worship him.

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She asked every one she met, and some people thought

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her crazy, but others gave her kind answers. Have you

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perhaps guessed that the young child whom the three kings

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sought was our Lord himself? People told Babushka how he

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was born in a manger, and many other things which

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you children have learned long ago. These answers puzzled the

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old dame mightily. She had but one idea in her

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ignorant head. The three kings had gone to seek a baby,

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she would, if not too late, seek him too. She'd forgot,

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I'm sure how many long years had gone by. She

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looked in vain for the christ child in his manger cradle.

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She spent all her little savings on toys and candy,

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so as to make friends with little children, that they

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might not run away when she came hobbling into their nurseries.

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Now you know for whom she is sadly seeking when

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she pushes back the bed curtains and bends down over

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each baby's pillow. Sometimes, when the old grandmother sits nodding

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by the fire and the bigger children sleep in their beds,

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old Babushka comes hobbling into the room and whispers softly,

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is the young child here? Ah? No, she has come

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too late, too late. But the little children know and

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love her. Two thousand years ago she lost the chance

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of finding him. Crooked, wrinkled, old, sick and sorry. She

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yet lives on, looking into each baby's face, always disappointed,

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always seeking. Will she find him at last? End of

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Babushka by Adelaide Skeeel