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102 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE
down before the door as guard. He ment for a crime she had not even
thus protected her for several days, contemplated.
but was circumvented by Frollo while While the Place below was studded he slept. One night Esmeralda was with thousands of inflamed eyes awakened by the entrance of Frollo — watching an executioner carry a he had succeeded in passing over woman in white up the steps of sleeping Quasimodo at the door and in the gallows, a noose about her neck, forcing admission — and the archdea a second tragedy was preparing con made his last morbid appeal. He where Frollo was peering forth upon encircled the girl in his arms when the scene from a high balustrade on she rose to repel him, and the ensuing one of the cathedral towers. Quasistruggle or her cries for help brought modo, enraged by the treachery of the Quasimodo. The infuriated hunch archdeacon, crept up behind him, back was on the point of using his hurled himself upon the priest and knife on the priest, when Esmeralda thrust him over the balustrade, saved him from adding the crime of Below, the hangman kicked a ladmurder to that of attempted abduc der from beneath the feet of the tion, by interceding for the man bent dancer, the suffering creature fell, on her destruction, and he was al and her body dangled in convulsions lowed to leave, breathing vengeance, at the end of a rope.
The vindictive spirit of the disap From the tower of Notre Dame a
pointed priest found its satisfaction black form was projected into the air,
in the delivery of Esmeralda to the and came fluttering down, to be
legally appointed executioners, and a crushed on the stone steps,
vast assemblage before Notre Dame Archdeacon and Gypsy crossed the
saw the unhappy child make atone threshold of death together.
A Moving Christmas Sermon
By ANNA PHILLIPS SEE
was lonely in the city street,
Tho throngs were passing to and fro On Christmas eve, when a country lad Looked for some homelike place to go.
T
A Picture Theater drew him in,
And he gazed, surprised, on a well-known scene, A Christmas gathering at the farm,
For a country play was on the screen, Where the absent son, returned at last,
Filled his gray-haired father's heart with joy, While his loving mother laughed and cried
As she clasped once more her long-lost boy.
Tears dimmed the eyes of the country lad,
Yet he had a vision of far away, Of the little home where he was reared,
And his father and mother, old and gray, Who longed to have some word from him,
Who longed to see his well-loved face ; The boy felt a pang of real remorse,
And rising quickly left the place.
When rose the sun on Christmas day,
It brighter shone than e'er before On the little cottage at the farm,
For the lad stood at his father's door.