A lovely story about a loner who, on Christmas Eve, is hungry and thirsty and out on the prowl. Strange events intercede which thwart the intended crime and bring about a remarkable change, affecting everyone who is involved for the better.
Read on. It's a tale you will wish to enjoy each year as Christmas approaches.
A book for Children from 6 to 106 !
Page One:
Each year just before Christmas, on the twenty-fourth day of December to be exact, in one of the poorest neighbourhoods in the old town in which we live, there would come this gentleman, often accompanied by his good wife, to a particular square where a rather sizeable fire had been lit.
That fire would burn brightly within a discarded forty-five-gallon oil drum, with its sole purpose to keep those in its vicinity warm. Those close by would sit upon meagre bundles, an old suitcase, a wooden crate, a discarded keg, or any other item one happened to possess, attempting to absorb as much of the heat as possible.
Once the gentleman had arrived and word had spread through the community, those further off would come out of their makeshift homes, places of refuge often within the alleyways of the district. In fact, any abandoned place which afforded some comfort against the cold and the wind was a carefully guarded piece of real estate the poor people didn’t easily abandon. Yet, on that particular night, an exception was made. A few of these individuals carried twigs, pieces of wood, or anything that would likely burn and which could be added to that fire as the night waned, to replenish its glow and its warmth.
The gentleman at the heart of this story was not overly dressed for the time of year or the hour of day, but his attire did make him stand out slightly amidst the people and the district he chose to visit. He seldom wore a hat, usually displaying a thick crop of well-groomed shoulder-length greying hair. This colour was matched in a short-trimmed beard which covered most of his exposed face and upper lip. A thin nose, which from its appearance may once have been broken, separated the space between his two grey-green eyes and presented a kind expression.
From the first time I ever laid eyes upon him, he was already an older fellow, the wrinkles on his forehead attesting to this fact. Yet — I must be clear — in all the years he came by our part of the city, I cannot recall that he ever aged.
Unquestionably, once we gathered round and he began to speak, the air would become quite still and not a single person would cough or stir lest we miss even a single word of the story this gentleman told. Should snow begin to fall, as was often the case on the twenty-fourth of December back then, we would bundle ourselves up a little more and sit closer together but, in all of those years, not a single person ever left until the last words were spoken.
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