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Our story takes place many years ago (even before your grandmothers were born) in a small village in Austria. Perhaps it is there still.

In the village stood a building called the Church of Saint Nicholas, where Father Josef was the priest, and Herr Franz was the organist and choir director.

Father Josef loved his work. He loved the people in his congregation and he loved the beautiful, old building where they gathered weekly for worship. He also loved reading the words of the order of service, and of the scriptures. He offered words of his own to the congregation each week in his sermon--and there were times when he liked that best, even more than reading aloud from sacred texts.

Like anyone who loved and admired the great and beautiful words of others, Father Josef sometimes tried his hand at writing psalms, poems, and song lyrics of his own (although not many of his friends knew it).

Herr Franz loved his work too. He loved the people in the congregation and many of his best friends were those who sang in the choir. He, too, loved the beautiful, old building. His chief joy was the organ, that--together with Franz himself made grand music for the worship services.

Like anyone who loved and admired the music of others, Franz sometimes tried his hand at composing melodies of his own. Often he wrote them for his guitar, which he loved almost as much as he loved the great old organ in the church.

Father Josef lived alone in the house next to the church and Franz lived with his wife and children in a house not too far away. His wife was a wonderful cook and an even better baker Franz rarely left home to practice his music without a pocketful of cookies or sticky buns. He left a trail of delicious crumbs from his pocket everywhere he went, even into the church.

You'd think that the ladies who dusted and swept that building would complain about the crumbs, but they didn't-because they never saw them. A family of field mice, who now made their home in the church (perhaps we should call them "church mice"), had discovered Franz's trail of crumbs long ago. They kept themselves busy eating the crumbs before the church ladies had any need to sweep at all.

So things went, in season and out of season, for several years, until one winter when Franz's wife began her traditional Christmas baking. Delicious odors filled the house; and boxes and boxes and boxes of her baked goods covered every table and countertop. It was her habit to make gifts of them to neighbors, friends and family. Her list of recipients was especially long this Christmas, so in order to make sure she had enough baked goods, she asked Franz not to fill his pockets with goodies until after the holiday was over.

Franz still had plenty to eat at home, so he cheerfully agreed. But the church mice became alarmed! There were no more wonderful crumbs for them to eat, and the snow outside covered any seeds left behind in the fields at harvest time. Nothing to eat! What were they going to do?

Then one of them remembered about the organ (they knew where it was because they found that was where Franz's trail of crumbs led). They remembered the leather bellows that captured air and sent it through the organ pipes to make sound. Though leather wasn't nearly as good as cookies, it was better than nothing. And they at once began to nibble. "One small hole," they thought, "will never be noticed."

The mice nibbled away at the bellows for several days, until finally it was the day before Christmas Eve. All through the village last-minute preparations were being made for one of the most important festivals of the year--the midnight service at the Church of Saint Nicholas on Christmas Eve itself.

Nowhere was this truer than at the church, where the altar was covered with a beautiful cloth and many extra candles had been set out. Candlesticks and the golden chalice had been polished and the pews where people sat had been rubbed with beeswax.

Father Josef came into the building to see that all was in readiness and to spend a few quiet moments alone. It was peaceful and still. "It was a night such as this--calm, and bright with stars, and so peaceful -- that the infant Jesus was born," he mused. Slowly, other words moved through his mind, about shepherds and a mother and her child; until, sure and clear, the words formed the verses of a song. Josef repeated them to himself and went home to write them down.

While he was at home writing, Franz came into the church. He, too, wanted to make certain that all was in readiness. He smiled as he sat down at the organ and prepared to play. He placed his fingers lovingly on the keys and pressed down. Nothing happened! He pressed again. And again. Still nothing. He got up and looked the organ over at last discovering the hole in the bellows. "Oh, no!" he cried, "Not tonight of all nights!" He rushed from the church toward Josef's house to tell him the terrible news when, whom should he meet, but Josef himself.

"I was just coming to find you," said Josef "I have good news! I have written a song for Christmas Eve!" "And I was just coming to find you," said Franz. "I have terrible news--the organ doesn't play; there is a hole in the bellows."

They shared their thoughts about a brand new song and about an old organ that refused to play. "It's a beautiful set of words, but without the organ there's nothing I can do." said Franz.

"I understand," said Josef. "Perhaps another year we can do it." He turned once again toward home, his head bowed in sorrow.

Franz sighed. How much he would have liked to help his friend, but how could he, without the organ? "Maybe the choir could learn the words and sing them," he thought. "But for that they'd have to have a melody." He looked the words over once again, and slowly one by one, musical notes began to move through his mind, weaving themselves together with Josef's words, until Franz could hear the combination as a song. He started toward Josefs house once more, to tell him, then he stopped. What he was going to say could wait. Let it be a surprise gift for his friend.

At last it was Christmas Eve. The church was filled with people waiting for the glorious words and music that heralded the coming of the Christ Child. Candles and incense burned. Father Josef read the words that he read to the people every year about another Joseph and his wife, Mary, and the Baby Jesus; about angels and stars and shepherds.

Then everyone waited for music from their wonderful organ. There was nothing but silence for awhile. Softly, from just at the edge of the candles' light, came the sound of Franz's guitar playing a new melody and the choir singing Father Josef's new words: