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 84was. Was that only because he was not winning? Suddenly he said, “I should like to have some tart. I had no supper, you know.” Dyhema only said, “Your turn to play.” Sigurd sighed. Then he had an idea. He would let the old man win. He would make a bad move. It was not easy to do that. He sighed. It is Christmas Eve, he thought, I will do it. And he made his move. Dyhema laughed. “A bad move. See, I can take your queen. Oh, I knew I could win. I have never yet lost a game!” Sigurd blushed. This was not fair. He had always been told not to be sad if he lost, and not to be proud if he won. Suddenly he smiled. If I can cheer him up, let him win, he thought, and he said, “You can never be sure who wins before it is checkmate.” All the time Dyhema had looked at the boy. He had seen the tears come into his eyes after he had spoken. And he had seen the change, the smile. And then the words of the boy. It was as if he saw the Christ Child again. He remembered the words of the Christ Child, “Sometimes you think all is lost.” He stood up. He walked up and down the room. The boy looked at him in surprise. Dyhema saw his life – his long life – in a new light. No mistakes? Open and right? There was a fault, a great fault. How could he have been so blind? My heart has been cold and unmoved, yet I’ve always thought I was such a good man, with all my good deeds. What a wretched old man I am. All this he felt deep in his heart and he saw his dream again, heard the words of the Christ Child, “God comes. He brings something new into life. Love!” That was it. Love! Dyhema went to the boy. He put his hand on his shoulder. “You have won,” he said, “you and the Christ Child.” The boy looked up at him in astonishment. “What do you mean?” Old Farmer Dyhema smiled. “It does not matter, my son,” he said. “It does not matter. But remember this: the Christ Child brings new life, yet all seemed so lost to man when Jesus was born. Born in a stable, poor and cold. All seemed to have been utterly lost in the end, my son. A cross was the end. We must remember, Sigurd, remember the moment when God looked and said, ‘It is the time.’ And it was! The cross was not the end. And even today the Christ Child still comes to warm the hearts of men.” There was a hard knocking, and the door opened. The old servant said, “Tell me, Dyhema, where must I send this woman? She is here now.” “Bring her in here, of course.” “But you said . . . ” “It is my daughter! Didn’t you know that? Bring her in here at once! Quick! And bring the Christmas tart. Quick, it is Christmas!”  Plough Quarterly • Winter 2017 73