A beautiful Christmas Legend is told of Babouscka, a story known and treasured for centuries by the peoples of all the European countries lying between France and Russia.

In the land that is now Southern Russia, on the night 'when the Christ-child was born, an old woman sat alone in her little cottage, gazing into the flames that danced on her hearth. Outside, the shrill, cold winds of winter howled dismally. Snow was blanketing the earth in a white carpet, and the ice-covered branches of the trees crackled in the wind. The old woman was glad that she had a fire, that she could sleep warm in her snug little bed, that she did not have to go out into the cold.

Suddenly came a rap on her door, and when she had opened it, three stately old men entered her cottage. They had flowing white beards, wore kingly robes and carried expensively wrapped packages.

"We have traveled far, Babouscka," they said, "and we stop to tell you of the Baby Prince who has been born this night in Bethlehem. He comes to rule the world and to teach all men and women to be loving and true. We carry Him gifts. Come with us, Babouscka!"

But she shrank back as she heard the storm beating mercilessly upon her little cottage, and would not leave her cozy room. So the old men journeyed on alone through the snow and the wind and the cold. Babouscka could not sleep that night for thinking of what the men had told her, and of the wonderful opportunity they had offered her to see the Prince. At last she decided that, when the dawn came, she would set out alone to find the Babe, and perhaps on the way she would come upon the old men.

In the morning she put on her heavy cloak, took up her staff, filled a basket with gold balls, wooden toys, brilliant trinkets, and set out to find the Christ-child. But she had forgotten to ask the three old men the way to Bethlehem, and they had journeyed so far through the night that she could not overtake them.

Up and down the roads she hurried, through woods and fields and towns, saying to all whom she met; "I go to find the Christ-child. 'Where does he lie? I bring him some pretty toys. But no one could tell her the way. Each one shook his head and said, "Farther on, Babouscka, farther on!"

So she traveled for years and years, and never found the child. In Europe, they say that she is still traveling, and that, on Christmas Eve, when children are fast asleep, she comes softly through snowy fields and towns, wrapped in a cloak and carrying a basket. Steadily she enters each house and holds a candle close to the little children's faces. "Is he here?" she whispers. "Is the little Christ-child here?" Then she shakes her head and turns away sorrowfully, sighing, "Farther on, Babouscka, farther on!" But she leaves a toy from her basket for each sleeping little one -- "For His sake," she whispers, and hurries on through the night.

And next morning, on Christmas day, when the children find toys in their beds, they are told that Babouscka must have been there while they slept. Santa's Bake Shopp --Charlotte Steiner

In the oldest part of town stood a little old house. On the ground floor it had a little old shop. Hardly anybody noticed the shop or looked in the shop window. But sometimes people passing by were heard to say, "mmm. where does that delicious smell come from?" lt came right out of the little old shop.

Old Mr. Sweeten, who owned the shop was a gingerbread baker. He had learned his trade from his father. His father had learned it from his father and this 'went back to great grandfather, and maybe even further back.

Mr. Sweeten baked his gingerbread cookies himself. He also tended the store and kept house for himself. For, delicious as his gingerbread tasted, Mr. Sweeten's business was slow. People liked to buy at the big, fancy stores, with glass everywhere and baked goods wrapped in cellophane. Mostly the neighborhood children were Mr. Sweeten's customers. Sometimes when one of them stood at his store window and had no money, Mr. Sweeten slipped him a few cookies and made the child happy.

It was near Christmas. Everyone was busy preparing for the holidays. Most of all a certain old gentleman named Santa, at the North Pole. They had been quite busy up there. The packages 'were wrapped and ready to be loaded into the sleigh. Then one of Santa's little helpers sniffed and sniffed again. "Gee," he said, "I miss something. No smell of cookies this year!"

Santa nearly fell off his chair. By golly! He had forgotten the cookies. And there was no time to bake them. It took three days just to warm up the oven.

"We will have to buy them." Santa said. "But who will have the kind of cookies the children expect from me?"

"Come here, Sniffer." Santa said to the helper who had noticed that there was no cookie smell. "You take Dasher and the little sleigh and find the right Christmas cookies. Go by the smell, Sniffer."

Sniffer raced down and started sniffing. He sniffed the most shiny and expensive stores. He sniffed and sniffed, but nothing smelled like the real old fashioned Christmas cookies.

Just when he was ready to go back and report, he passed over this little old street with the little old shop where little old Mr. Sweeten was baking his gingerbread cookies.

"Mmmm, that smells like Christmas to me." Sniffer said, as he landed and slipped into the store.

He took a cookie from a plate and nibbled. "The real thing." he said. That was when Mr. Sweeten noticed him.

"Don't be afraid, little boy," Mr. Sweeten said, "go ahead and eat."

But when Sniffer explained who he really was and that he wanted to buy one million and three hundred and six thousand and seventy-eight cookies, Mr. Sweeten shook his head sadly. He 'was all alone to bake, he explained. How could he manage, even if his oven was bigger than he needed?

"We will help," Sniffer promised Mr. Sweeten. Then lickety-split he hopped into his sled and vanished over the rooftops.

Old Mr. Sweeten hardly had time to rub his eyes and wonder whether he had dreamed it all, when a whole sleigh- load of little helpers poured into the store. They all went into the big kitchen in the back of the house and got busy. While Mr. Sweeten measured, they poured and mixed, they beat and pounded. Mr. Sweeten smiled all over his old face.

He smiled even more when he saw the kind of cookies his little helpers were shaping. Instead of plain round cookies, they made stars with shiny icing. They made angels with pink cheeks. They made deer with sweet chocolate eyes and lambs with white sugar curls. They made shepherds with yellow icing for hair.

Mr. Sweeten could hardly remember when he'd had so much fun. As he wrapped the gingerbread treasures, the little helpers loaded the sleigh with as many as it could carry. Then they disappeared into the sky. My Sweeten was left alone again. Not quite alone, though. Santa's helpers had left the shelves and the counter full of the lovely Christmas cookies, for they had made more than they could carry.

When the town woke in the morning, everybody sniffed!

"Oh, what a wonderful Christmas smell is in the air! Where does it come from?" everyone said. The children in town were the first to follow their noses and to discover the little old house and the little old shop with the delicious gingerbread cookies for sale.

"Look," they said, "it is called "Santa's Bake Shop." For little Sniffer had 'written it across the store window in sparkling 'white letters. All that day the doorbell kept ringing at the little old store, and long before he could believe the shelves and counter were empty. Mr. Sweeten sold every last crumb of those wonderful Christmas cookies.

Charlotte Steiner, "Santa's Bake Shop", Christmas Treasures, by the editors of Hallmark, Hallmark Cards, Inc., distributed by Doubleday & Co., Inc.