ABSTRACT
The scene is Christmas Eve, an occasion consecrated to domesticity. Though the snow is deep and blinding without, the hearth of the burgomaster is bright, and sorrow is unknown in the happy household. The poor old man blubbered like a child over his broken pipe, gobbled up the food that warmed his withered old frame, and yet stood up alert as a dart, saluting as if on parade, when he is surprised by the Colonel, to whom he owes no allegiance save from courtesy. The little play does not require much acting, save from the principal, but to relieve it from monotony it wants every scrap of variety it can get. Needless to say, the theatre was crowded in every part, and when the curtain fell, it was raised at least four times in order to reward the actor for the extreme pleasure he had given to all whose hearts were responsive to his touch.
