THE fishermen of the village smoked one pipe after another, and scratched their heads for a long time over the problem; their good wives gathered together and clacked their tongues as busily as their knitting needles; and the main topic of every conversation was—"What is to become of that boy Nicholas?"

"Of course," said fat Kristin, wife of Hans, the rope-maker, "no one wants to see the child go hungry or leave him out in the cold; but with five little ones of our own, I don't see how we can take him in."

"Yes," chimed in Mistress Elena Grozik, "and with the long winter well set in, and the men barely able to go out in the boats, no fisherman's family knows for certain where the next piece of bread is coming from. And with the scarcity of fuel . . . "

All the ladies shivered and drew closer to Greta Bavran's comfortable log fire, and sighed heavily over their knitting.

Mistress Greta arose and poked the fire thoughtfully.

"We could take him for awhile," she meditated aloud. "Jan had many a good catch last season, and we have somewhat laid by for the winter. We have only the three children, and there's that cot in the storehouse where he could sleep . . . Mind you," she interrupted herself sharply as she noticed the look of relief spreading over the others' faces, "mind you, we might not have a crust to eat ourselves next winter, and besides, I think everybody in the village should have a share in this."

"Quite right, Mistress Bavran," spoke up another. Then, turning to the group, "Why can't we all agree that each one of us here will take Nicholas into her home for, say a year, then let him change to another family, and so on until he reaches an age when he can fend for himself?"

"I suppose Olaf and I can manage for one winter," said one woman thoughtfully.

"You may count on me," added another. "Not for a few years, though; we have too many babies in the house now. I'll wait until Nicholas gets a bit older."

Greta Bavran gave the last speaker a sharp look. "Yes, when he's able to do more work," she muttered under her breath. Then aloud—"There are ten of us here now. If we each agree to take Nicholas for a year, that will take care of him until he's fifteen, and without a doubt, he'll run away to sea long before that."

The ladies laughed approvingly, then feeling very virtuous at having provided for Nicholas until he reached the age of fifteen, they arose, wrapped up their knitting, and proceeded to wrap themselves up in shawls and woolens before going out into the sharp winter air.

"Will you find my Jan at the shop, and tell him to fetch Nicholas from the Widow Lufvitch where he's been staying?" called Greta after the last woman.

"That I will, Greta; then I must hurry to my baking. I almost forgot the Christmas feast tomorrow, with all this talk about the orphan."

So it was that Nicholas came to his first home-for-a-year on Christmas Eve, to kindly people who tried their best to make a lonely little five-year-old boy forget the tragic events of the past week. In spite of the festivities of the day, he curled himself up in a corner of the storeroom, and with heartbroken sobs for his lost mother and father and beloved Katje, tried to drown out the sounds of merrymaking in the cottage. But the door opened, and a little form was seen in the ray of light.

"What do you want?" asked Nicholas almost roughly. "Go away; I want to be alone."