Her father had died when she was a baby, and
her mother was very poor and had to work hard
all day in the fields for a few sous.

Little Piccola had no dolls and toys, and she
was often hungry and cold, but she was never sad
nor lonely.

What if there were no children for her to play
with! What if she did not have fine clothes and
beautiful toys! In summer there were always the
birds in the forest, and the flowers in the fields and
meadows,--the birds sang so sweetly, and the
flowers were so bright and pretty!

In the winter when the ground was covered
with snow, Piccola helped her mother, and knit
long stockings of blue wool.

The snow-birds had to be fed with crumbs, if
she could find any, and then, there was Christmas
Day.

But one year her mother was ill and could not
earn any money. Piccola worked hard all the day
long, and sold the stockings which she knit, even
when her own little bare feet were blue with the
cold.

As Christmas Day drew near she said to her
mother, ``I wonder what the good Saint Nicholas
will bring me this year. I cannot hang my stocking
in the fireplace, but I shall put my wooden
shoe on the hearth for him. He will not forget
me, I am sure.''

``Do not think of it this year, my dear child,''
replied her mother. ``We must be glad if we have
bread enough to eat.''

But Piccola could not believe that the good
saint would forget her. On Christmas Eve she
put her little wooden patten on the hearth before
the fire, and went to sleep to dream of Saint
Nicholas.

As the poor mother looked at the little shoe,
she thought how unhappy her dear child would be
to find it empty in the morning, and wished that
she had something, even if it were only a tiny
cake, for a Christmas gift. There was nothing in
the house but a few sous, and these must be saved
to buy bread.

When the morning dawned Piccola awoke and
ran to her shoe.

Saint Nicholas had come in the night. He had
not forgotten the little child who had thought of
him with such faith.

See what he had brought her. It lay in the
wooden patten, looking up at her with its two
bright eyes, and chirping contentedly as she
stroked its soft feathers.

A little swallow, cold and hungry, had flown
into the chimney and down to the room, and
had crept into the shoe for warmth.

Piccola danced for joy, and clasped the
shivering swallow to her breast.

She ran to her mother's bedside. ``Look,
look!'' she cried. ``A Christmas gift, a gift from
the good Saint Nicholas!'' And she danced again
in her little bare feet.

Then she fed and warmed the bird, and cared
for it tenderly all winter long; teaching it to take
crumbs from her hand and her lips, and to sit on
her shoulder while she was working.

In the spring she opened the window for it to
fly away, but it lived in the woods near by all
summer, and came often in the early morning to
sing its sweetest songs at her door.