There is an almost visible glow about cities at this time. On the bustling sidewalks and in the malls, rosy-cheeked people, laden with packages, whistle and speak cheerily to each other.

The atmosphere is full of anticipation and the warm, outgoing feeling that comes from the overflowing of the spirit.

The tide of Christmas runs deep and strong in the hearts of people.

The mystery behind the spell of the tide of Christmas is that it appeals so strongly to the best that is in us.

And the power of the tide of Christmas is that it is more blessed to give than to receive.

We know of no better example of this than a little story by Fulton Oursler in his "Modern Parables." It is titled "The Golden Adventure" and with some slight abridgement goes as follows:

"It began back when old 'Put-Back' Peter was hit by a truck. 'Put-Back,' in the slang of the waterfront saloons, was made of the dregs of many drinks poured into one barrel and dispensed to the poorest customers at five cents a glass. Fired with that broth, 'Put-Back' Pete had stumbled out into a traffic swirl and 15 minutes later found himself in a hospital. Doctors shook their heads, bandaged him up and dismissed him, but John Logan, local leader of the Volunteers of America, chanced to be near and took him to his shelter for homeless men, not far from Lexington Market. Next day Logan began talking to Pete about his future.

"'You might as well know the doctors say you're not long for this world, Pete. Hadn't you better straighten out your conscience before it's too late?'

"'I never did no harm to nobody,' said Pete, with a scared look.

"'Ever do any good to anybody?'

"'Guess not, Cap.'

"'Well, it's never too late, you know. It might help – "Up There!""

"I suppose old Pete became more and more worried as he reflected that 'Up There' was not so far off now. In the dusk of Christmas Eve he slipped out into the street and started off. Not until later was Capt. Logan to learn that, before he departed, Pete had opened out an old pouch hanging by a cord around his neck. All his worldly goods, his one possession, had been hidden there for years against some final emergency. But now, he told himself, if he could only give away his treasure to someone in distress, that would be a good deed which he could report in his own defense before the bar of eternal justice. He still had a chance.

"Shaking and dizzy, he moved down the frosty sidewalk toward the electric glory of the shopping streets, his fortune clutched in his palm.

"Soon he was in the thick of the crowds. His bleary eyes, dull and dimmed, looked searchingly from one face to another. But no one in the whole gay throng seemed to be in distress. All the people were laden with pretty packages tied in ribbons and holiday wrappings; they laughed and prattled with never a glance for him. Once he halted beside a girl who was staring into a shop window full of bracelets and necklaces and gleaming rings.

"'Excuse me, miss,' he began, 'Would you…'

"She gave him a horrified look.

"'You leave me alone,' she cried, 'before I yell!'

"Three times again he tried to speak to strangers only to be rebuffed; Pete did not realize what a terrifying sight he was, with his bruises and bandages. A policeman, seeing him lingering near a corner Santa Claus swinging an iron pot for donations, ordered him to get moving.

"Utter defeat in his heart, Pete turned at last into a back street where it was quieter. Now he felt very tired. On the steps of an old church he sank down with a sigh, and just sat there, staring dumbly into the night.

"He was feeling cold and ill when a voice called to him. It was a small piping voice. The old man turned slowly and saw, standing beside him, a little girl, no more than 13, pale and smiling.

"'Mister,' she said, 'would you like to have a 10-cent piece?'

"He blinked at her solemnly. At any other time he would have grabbed for anybody's dime. But tonight he didn't want to take anything; he wanted to give something away.

"'Who wants your money?' he growled.

"'Oh, please take it. It's very important to me. You see, I'm bringing up my brother. And he's only 5. That's a very foolish age, you know, mister? The trouble is Christmas. My brother believes in Santa Claus. I can't make him understand there's no such thing. No matter what I tell him, he is just certain Santa Claus is going to bring him a red fire engine. And that it will be right beside the kitchen stove when he wakes up tomorrow morning. Now, mister, I haven't any money to buy him a fire engine. All I've got left tonight is 10 cents.'

"'If that's the way it is, what did you try to give me that dime for?'

"'Because I have to – to get the fire engine.'

"'How's that? Come again!'

"'The teacher in my Sunday school says that often, when we give something for the love of God to people who need it, we get a lot more back. It says so in the Bible. All you need is never to lose faith.'

"On this childish chatter, old Pete seemed to meditate deeply. His brain was slower tonight than usual, which meant it was very slow indeed. But while he was thinking, his hand rested on the child's shoulder, as if he dared not let her go.

"'What you said is right,' he declared. 'Give me that dime! That's right. Now shut your eyes! Hold out your hands. There!'

"'The little girl looked down and beheld in her cupped hands a shining five-dollar gold piece. A little gasping cry – then she threw her arms around his neck and kissed the old lips through his beard.

"'Merry Christmas!' she cried. 'And God bless us all!'

"Turning, she ran off into the night. When, more than an hour later, Logan found Pete, the old man was sitting, content, on the stone steps, still holding his wonderful 10-cent piece."

Jac Chambliss
PNoll@cbslawfirm.com