Free Star of Light by Patricia M. St. John

The sheep grazed on contentedly—there was peace in heaven and goodwill on earth.
    Then the last picture flashed on the screen. The shepherds were kneeling, barefoot, in their rough fleece coats, worshipping the King of heaven who had become a homeless child, lying in a manger among the cattle.
    It was over. The nurse switched on the lights, and the pictures faded. There was nothing left of the feast except the burnt-out candles, sweets papers, orange peels, and banana skins. But the thought of a love that gave, and of a love that became poor, stayed with Hamid as he stepped thoughtfully out into the wet street. Kinza stood in the doorway, waving as they went, and as he passed he put out a shy handand touched her hair.
    The other boys had gone on ahead, but Hamid loitered, the pictures still bright in his head, not noticing the drizzling rain.
    As he passed under a streetlamp, a sharp little mewing caught his ears. Looking down he saw a skeletonlike kitten, very small and wet, trying to shelter behind a drain pipe.
    In his eleven years of life, he had seen many starving kittens dying in the street and had never given them two seconds’ thought. But tonight it was somehow different. He could not possibly have explained, but the first seeds of gentleness had been sown in his heart. He found to his surprise that he cared about the starving little creature, and he picked it up and held it against him. It was so thin that its skin seemed to be stretched tightly over its bones, and he could feel its heart beating rapidly.
    What should he do with it? He had no doubts at all. There was one open door where it would certainly be welcome, and Kinza would probably love it. It would be his Christmas gift to her.
    He pattered back over the cobbles and knocked at the nurse’s door. When she opened it, he held out the shivering, wretched creature with perfect confidence.
    “It’s for Kinza,” he explained, “a gift of the feast. It is very hungry and cold, so I brought it to you.”
    The nurse hesitated. The last thing she really wanted just then was a half-dead ginger kitten, covered with sores and fleas, but she could not refuse, because she knew why he had given it. With a sigh of joy, she realized that her evening’s work had notbeen in vain. One little boy at least understood and entered into the spirit of Christmas. He had wanted to give, and he had been gentle and kind to an outcast kitten. It was the first time she had ever seen a local child care about the sufferings of an animal.
    So she accepted it gratefully and joyfully, and then holding it at arm’s length she carried it to a box near the fire and sprinkled it all over with disinfectant powder. Then she gave it a saucer of milk, and it twitched its tail at a cheeky angle and lapped it up— a tough, brave little kitten that deserved to be saved!
    As she sat watching it, a funny picture came into her mind that left her laughing. She imagined all the Christmas love gifts before the manger—the gold, frankincense, and myrrh—and perched on top of the glittering pile, precious in the eyes of the One to whom it was given, was a thin, flea-ridden, ginger kitten with its tail sticking up in the air—the sign of a little boy’s love and care.

Jenny

    M any, many miles away, there was a different Christmas party taking place. The children here were also feeling very happy and carefree, like the ones in the nurse’s home.
    But it was a quite different kind of party. Instead of oranges and nuts and sweets, there were jellies and trifles and chocolate biscuits, and a big Christmas cake. Instead of black, wet rags there were brightly colored dresses and sweaters, and the girls had bright ribbons in their hair. It should have been a perfect party, and yet when the tea and games were over, and the joyful children gathered by the Christmas tree to sing carols, the grown-up visitors all felt sad, and one small visitor, aged nine, felt saddest of all.
    For this was a blind school,