Page 1 Page 2 Page 3 Page 4 Page 5 Page 6 Page 7 Page 8 Page 9 Page 10 Page 11 Page 12 Page 13 Page 14 Page 15 Page 16 Page 17 Page 18 Page 19 Page 20 Page 21 Page 22 Page 23 Page 24 Page 25 Page 26 Page 27 Page 28 Page 29 Page 30 Page 31 Page 32 Page 33 Page 34 Page 35 Page 36 Page 37 Page 38 Page 39 Page 40 Page 41 Page 42 Page 43 Page 44 Page 45 Page 46 Page 47 Page 48 Page 49 Page 50 Page 51 Page 52 Page 53 Page 54 Page 55 Page 56 Page 57 Page 58 Page 59 Page 60 Page 61 Page 62 Page 63 Page 64 Page 65 Page 66 Page 67 Page 68 Page 69 Page 70 Page 71 Page 72 Page 73 Page 74 Page 75 Page 76 Page 77 Page 78 Page 79 Page 80 Page 81 Page 82 Page 83 Page 8468 Plough Quarterly • Winter 2017 “I know. It is her own fault. Not mine!” The Christ Child looked at the clock. Half past seven. And at eight o’clock – at eight o’clock Dyhema’s daughter was to come here with her son. He had been to the place where she lived, and he had told her to go back to her father. He had said that everything would be all right when she came. And now there was only half an hour left, and the heart of the old farmer was harder than ever before. But he was not dismayed. God had sent him. He even smiled and said, “Let us play chess!” “Can you play?” “A little bit.” “Come on. That is better than all this talking.” They started. It seemed that the Christ Child was not a very good player. After ten minutes he had already lost two castles and a knight. Dyhema rubbed his hands. He would win the game. That was certain. When the Christ Child had lost nearly half his pieces, he suddenly spoke. “Imagine for a minute that your daughter came to you this Christmas Eve with your grandson. Would you receive them?” “Stop that nonsense. Look at your game. You have nearly lost. And why should they come?” “I have almost lost. Well, perhaps. But suppose I should win the game before eight o’clock, would you receive them?” The old farmer laughed. “I would, because it is impossible.” The Christ Child smiled, too. It was one minute to eight. The Christ Child had only his king, queen, and one bishop. Dyhema had almost all his men. Dyhema looked at the clock. “Eight o’clock,” he said. “Eight o’clock. And I think it’s checkmate,” said the Christ Child. “Checkmate?” Dyhema looked at the board. His eyes widened. “Oh? Wait a minute. You have changed the positions of all my men. No, no! But what has happened?” The Christ Child smiled again. “That is what happens in life,” he said. Then he looked very earnest. “Often people think they are lost. They think that nothing in the world can help them. And then God looks and says, ‘It is time.’ And all at once everything looks different. Everything comes into a different light, and all at once you see that all is not lost, but won. Remember this, Dyhema! All is not lost in his eyes. The lowly shall be lifted up – the first shall be last.” And then he was gone. Dyhema stood up. He sat down in his chair near the fire. He closed his eyes. He would think this over.