The Oxen at Christmas

Star (Christchurch), Issue 17410, 12 December 1924, Page 5 (Supplement)

The Oxen at Christmas

THIRD PRIZE STORY

Written for the Christmas “ Star ” hy .

A. Stanley Sherratt

It was Christmas Eve. James Medbury, a. well-to-do farmer, was seated with his family upon the wide verandah of his house, enjoying the cool air after the heat of the day. Conversation flagged ; Mrs Medhury reclined in her deck chair and surveyed the landscape through half-closed eyes, and even the two children. Jack, aged fourteen years, and Cicely, aged twelve years, seemed reduced to silence by the tiresome heat of the day. Medhury was silent, too, for he appeared to be thinking deeply. He was an imaginative man for kme of his class, and read much of a good class of literature. He loved poetry, and open upon his knee was a volume of Poems of To-day.” “ My dear,’’ he said, addressing his wife, “ this poem, 4 The Oxen,’ by Thomas Hardy, is a beautiful, if rather strange, work. Perhaps it is the air of Christmas, but just now the words impress me very much. I will read it aloud to you, it is but short. Give your attention, children, to this beautiful poem of Christmas. Christmas Eve, and twelve of the clock. ’Now they are on their knees,* An elder said as we sat in a flock By the embers in hearthside ease. We pictured the meek, mild creatures where They dwelt in their strawy pen, Nor did it occur to one of us there To doubt they were kneeling then. So fair a fancy few would weave In these years! Yet. I feel. If someone said on Christmas Eve, “ Come, see the oxen kneel, “In the loudly barton by yonder coomb Our childhood used to know,” I should go with him in the gloom, Hoping it might be so.” The silence oF the three listeners during the reading was evidence of profound interest and wonder. “Strange, is it not?” continued the farmer, “and I am inclined to thin*

it is not the creation of an imagination, solely. It grips one so.’* “It is certainly a very beautiful thought,” replied his wife. “ but I should not care to intrude upon the privacy of our beasts at twelve o’clock in the dead of night for further enlightenment.” “ Nor I,” said the husband. The children offered no comment, and, thinking the subject perhaps a trifle deep, the matter was dismissed by the elders. The twilight deepened into dusk, and darkness, thick aain still somewhialj warm, as is typical of the Canterbury “ nor’-west ” night, blotted out the landscape. The children being sent to bed. the parents retired indoors. Christmas Eve was quiet at the homestead, and. after an early supper, the farmer and his wife retired to bed. “ I must be up early to place the presents in the stockings which have been so thoughtfully left in the kitchen by the children,” remarked the father, as he prepared himself for rest. * * * * A small, dark figure slipped noiselessly across the passage and disappeared into a room .almost opposite. “ Mum and Had will he asleep now* C'is; are you still game?” “Oh. yes, yes,” replied the girl in an excited whisper, and nodding energetically her pretty head. “ Let us start at once, for I am so impatient.” 44 Right (>; tread carefully and keen close behind me.” Two small cloaked figures stole silently from the house by the hack door, and made their way through the darkness to the stalls where some of their father’s cattle were housed. Arriving at their destination, there was still some time to wait, as they had left the house at eleven o’clock and the distance to the stalls was but short. I hough making no comments to thr-r parents, the poem read by their father had a great influence upon them, and. on retiring for the night, they had conversed together regarding Its strange text. At Christmas time

the oxen were believed to kneel at midnight, hut so far as the children knew, no one had ever witnessed the beasts in this attitude. They therefore agreed to stay dressed, and after their parents had retired, make their way to tlie stables to spy upon the stock. So far all had gone well with them, and they now sat close together against a shed wall awaiting the midnight hour. Cis had an imaginative mind her father, and her imagination had been vividly at work since her hearing of the poem. Her brother was not imaginative to any degree, and the first influence had partially faded from his mind. The night was very still ; the ticking of the luminous-dial alarm clock, which Jack had brought from the kitchen, was almost the only sound. They seemed to have been out at least half an hour, but “ quarter past eleven ” shone up at them from the face of the clock. * * * * “Jack! Jack! You hare been asleep!” The boy awoke to feel his sister’s reproachful eyes upon him. Becoming aware of their position and the mission on which they had embarked. he sought the clock from his cloth* ing, and stared confusedly at its dial. Half-past two! He shivered, his limbs ached, and he was disappointed. “No good now, Cis; it’s all over long ago. Come on, let us go lack to the house. Did you sleep, too?” “ l think I must have,” replied the girl. “But, oh! I had a most won derful dream.” “ All light, never mind it now, let us to bed,” said the bov. •But I saw THEM in my dream.” “You saw —what ‘them,’ Cis?” “The cows. Everything was so dark and quiet for what seemed such a long time. Then I fancied I was in a large stable, bigger than anv of ours. In one corner a small light was burning, and by its rays I saw a Woman, such a lovely Woman, sitting there with a small Baby on her knees. By her side was a tall man in robes, his face in shadow. Silently there came through the open door more men. also in robes, but the feeble light showed dark-beard-

ed faces. AY hat a ttract ed me most was their eye§» the expression in them b« ing wonderful and such as 1 have never before seen in human eyes. Each figure bowed low before the Woman and Child, and each before retiring, placed some gift at the feet of the Mother.” “Some dream, C'is, just like a Holy Piet ” 44 But wait,” went on the girl. “ After the men had retired, THEY camo. Shuffling clumsily to the doorway came the oxen, and each, with look of dumb admiration and wonder in its eyes, fell solemnly on its knees before the group in the stable, then rose and moved' silently away, making room for the next. When all had passed again into the darkness without I glanced back at the group and felt that 1 must bow. too. I tried and tried, but could not bend ; 1 tried again—and succeeded ; but all became dark, the group had disappeared, and I found J had fallen foiward with my head in your lap. Oh, Jack ! I wonder if it were all a dream ?” “Can’t snr C’is. old girl: wish t had had a dream, too,” remarked Jack “I am cold,” he went on, “and so are you, come on inside now. If we are not quick we may meet Santa.” .They moved quietly into the dark kitchen. Jack replacing cautiously the borrowed clock, but neither hoy nor girl gave a thought to the stockings which they had placed by the range fc t ' anticipated gifts. Once in bed. it was, not long before the children were asleep ; even Cicely, after her striking dream, or vision, did not remain long awake. They both awoke late that morning, which was rather surprising for their parents ; but the excitement of the Christmas gifts temporarily overshone the nocturnal venture. Referring to the strange dream some time later C’is .said to her brother :- “ Tt was very w rong of us to go that night to pry into the doings of the beasts at Christmas, and something very dreadful may have happened to ns had we not mercifully fallen asleep. Sacred Secrets must and always will remain Sacred Secrets.” To this Jack Heartily agreed.