But this child grew proud, and cruel, and selfish. He despised the children of the Woodcutter, and the other children of the village. He said that they were of mean parentage, while he was noble. He sprang from a Star! He called himself their master and them his servants. He had no pity for the poor, or for the blind or maimed. He cast stones at them and drive them out. None came twice to that village to ask for alms.

Indeed, he was very beautiful, and mocked at the weakly and made jest of them[10]. He loved himself only. In summer, when the winds were still, he liked to lie by the well in the priest’s orchard and look down at the marvel of his own face.

The Woodcutter and his wife often chided him, and said:

‘We did not leave you in the forest when you needed pity. Why are you so cruel to all who need pity?’

The old priest taught him the love of living creatures, and said:

‘The fly is your brother. Do it no harm. The wild birds that roam through the forest have their freedom. Do not snare them for your pleasure. God made the worms and the moles, and each has its place. Who are you to bring pain into God’s world? Even the cattle of the field praise Him.’

But the Star-Child did not heed their words, He listened and frowned and went back to his companions, and led them. His companions followed him, because he was fair and clever. He danced, and piped, and made music. And wherever the Star-Child led them they followed. Whatever the Star-Child bade them do, that did they.

When he pierced with a sharp reed the dim eyes of the mole, they laughed. When he cast stones at the leper they laughed also. In all things he ruled them, and they became cruel as he was.

One day through the village a poor beggar-woman passed by. Her garments were torn and ragged. Her feet were sick, and she was very tired and weary. She sat her down under a chestnut-tree to rest.

But when the Star-Child saw her, he said to his companions,

‘See! A foul beggar-woman under that fair and green-leaved tree. Come, let us drive her hence, for she is ugly.’

So he came near and threw stones at her, and mocked her. She looked at him with terror in her eyes. She did move her gaze from him. And when the Woodcutter saw all this, he ran up and rebuked the Star-Child, and said to him:

‘Surely you are very cruel and don’t know mercy. What evil did this poor woman do to you?’

The Star-Child grew red with anger, and stamped his foot upon the ground, and said,

‘Who are you to question me what I do? I am not your son.’

‘You speak truly,’ answered the Woodcutter, ‘yet did I show you pity when I found you in the forest?’

When the woman heard these words she cried, and fell into a swoon. The Woodcutter carried her to his own house, and his wife took care of her. When the poor woman rose up from the swoon, they set meat and drink before her. But she did not eat nor drink. She said to the Woodcutter,

‘Didn’t you say that the child was from the forest? And was it not ten years from this day?’

And the Woodcutter answered,

‘Yes, it was in the forest that I found him. It was ten years ago.’

‘And what signs did you find with him?’ she cried. ‘Did he have a chain of amber upon his neck? Did he have a cloak of gold tissue with stars round him?’

‘Truly,’ answered the Woodcutter, ‘it was even as you say.’

And he took the cloak and the amber chain from the chest, and showed them to her. When she saw them she wept for joy, and said,

‘He is my little son whom I lost in the forest. Please send for him quickly, for in search of him I wander over the whole world.’

So the Woodcutter and his wife went out and called to the Star-Child, and said to him,

‘Go into the house, and you will find your mother. She is there.’

So he ran in, filled with wonder and great gladness. But when he saw her, he laughed scornfully and said,

‘But where is my mother? For I see none here but this vile beggar-woman.’

And the woman answered him,

‘I am your mother.’

‘You are mad to say so,’ cried the Star-Child angrily. ‘I am not your son, you are a beggar, and ugly, and in rags. Therefore get out, and let me never see your foul face!’

‘But you are indeed my little son, whom I bare in the forest,’ she cried. She fell on her knees, and held out her arms to him. ‘The robbers stole you from me, and left you to die,’ she murmured, ‘but I recognized you when I saw you. I also recognized the signs, the cloak of golden tissue and the amber chain. Therefore please come with me! Come with me, my son, I need your love.’

But the Star-Child did not move from his place. He shut the doors of his heart against her. The woman wept for pain.

At last he spoke to her, and his voice was hard and bitter.

‘If you are really my mother,’ he said, ‘stay away, and do not come here to bring me to shame. I thought I was the child of a Star, and not a beggar’s child, as you tell me that I am. Therefore get away, and let me never see you again!’

‘Alas! my son,’ she cried, ‘will you not kiss me before I go? I suffered much to find you.’

‘No,’ said the Star-Child, ‘you are very foul, I can’t look at you. I prefer to kiss the adder or the toad than you.’

So the woman rose up, and went away into the forest. She wept bitterly. When the Star-Child saw that she was away, he was glad, and ran back to his playmates to play with them.

But when they beheld him, they mocked him and said,

‘Oh, you are as foul as the toad, and as loathsome as the adder. Go away, because we don’t want to play with you!’

And they drove him out[11] of the garden.

The Star-Child frowned and said to himself,

‘What is this that they say to me? I will go to the river and look into it. It will tell me of my beauty.’

So he went to the river and looked into it, and lo! His face was as the face of a toad, and his body was like an adder. And he fell down on the grass and wept, and said to himself,

‘Surely this is the result of my sin. I denied my mother, and drove her away. I was proud, and cruel to her. I will go and seek her through the whole world. I will ask her to forgive me!’

A little daughter of the Woodcutter came to him. She put her hand upon his shoulder and said,

‘You lost your beauty  –  it does not matter[12]. Stay with us, and I will not mock at you.’

And he said to her,

‘No, I was cruel to my mother, and this evil is a punishment. I must go and wander through the world till I find her. I hope she will give me her forgiveness.’

So he ran away into the forest and called out to his mother to come to him, but there was no answer. All day long he called to her, and, when the sun set he lay down to sleep on a bed of leaves. The birds and the animals fled from him. They remembered his cruelty. He was alone save for the toad and the adder that watched him.

In the morning he rose up, and plucked some bitter berries from the trees and ate them. After that he went through the wood and wept sorely. And he wanted to know if anybody saw his mother.

He said to the Mole,

‘You can go beneath the earth. Tell me, is my mother there?’

And the Mole answered,

‘You blinded my eyes. How can I know?’

He said to the Linnet,

‘You can fly over the tops of the tall trees. You can see the whole world. Tell me, can you see my mother?’

And the Linnet answered,

‘You hurt my wings for your pleasure. How can I fly?’

And to the little Squirrel who lived in the fir-tree, and was lonely, he said,

‘Where is my mother?’

And the Squirrel answered,

‘You killed my children. Do you want to kill her, too?’