How Olesya lost her handkerchief

Olesya was eight years old, and she lived with her mother in a small hut on the edge of the village. Their father was gone — he had long since gone to a place from which they never return. So, together with her mother, they were a whole world to each other.

All summer long, Olesya ran around helping her neighbors — she would weed Aunt Hanna’s garden beds, carry water for Grandpa Semyon, or pick berries for Grandma Zosia. For each help she would receive a few kopecks. Olesya would put all the money in a canvas bag that she sewed under her pillow.

Because she had her own secret. Mom had been wearing an old scarf for years—one that had threads that were pulling out and the edges were fraying. And in town, in Aunt Orisa's shop, there was an embroidered scarf hanging—black, with red peonies, with a green leaf. Olesya went to that shop once a week just to look.

Before Christmas Eve, she poured out everything she had collected on the table. She counted it. That was enough! The girl ran to Aunt Orisa, gave her the money with trembling hands, and took the handkerchief. It was so soft, so warm — Olesya pressed it to her cheek and laughed.

We had to walk home through the forest. There was a lot of snow. Olesya ran and jumped, holding the bundle with the handkerchief under her arm. She imagined how her mother would unwrap it, how she would cry from surprise, how she would hug her.

And suddenly - she stopped. There was no bundle under her arm. Olesya froze. She looked around. A snowy path behind her - and nothing anywhere. The girl ran back, searching, but the snow fell thicker, sweeping away all traces. In half an hour it began to get dark. Olesya sat down on an old stump and cried - quietly, bitterly, as one cries only when everything is gone.

Snowflakes fell on her hair. Olesya thought: "How will I come home now? With empty hands? I've been hiding those pennies for a whole year... And mom will be in an old scarf again.".

And then she heard someone coming. The snow was falling slowly, heavily, but surely. Olesya raised her tear-stained face. In front of her stood an old man - tall, in white and gold robes. On his head - a golden mitre, in his hand - a staff. A white beard down to his waist.

“Why are you crying, daughter?” he asked quietly. His voice was like warm milk. “I bought a handkerchief for my mother,” Olesya sobbed. “I collected it all year. And I lost it. In the snow. I won’t find it.”.

Saint Nicholas sat down on a stump nearby. It seemed impossible that such a tall old man could fit on a small stump, but somehow he did. “Why did you want to buy a handkerchief for your mother?” he asked. “Because her old woman was completely worn out. And she never complained. And I wanted my mother to be the most beautiful.” “Well,” the old man smiled, “you’ve already brought her the most important thing.”.

Olesya didn't understand. The saint unfolded the hem of his robe and pulled out a small bundle. A familiar one. The same one. "It was lying under the Christmas tree," he said. "I was walking by, saw it. I thought, whose is it? And then I heard your crying and understood.".

Olesya couldn't believe it. She pressed the handkerchief to her heart. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," she whispered, panting. "Don't thank me," said Saint Nicholas. "Thank you. For remembering your mother all year long." Such children don't get lost even in the thickest snow.

He led her to the edge of the forest, and beyond that the lights of the village could be seen. Olesya turned to thank him again, but the old man was gone. Only footprints remained in the snow, which were covered with snow in a minute.

At home, my mother unwrapped the handkerchief and cried. Olesya did too. And then they sat together at the festive table, my mother in a new handkerchief, and the girl thought: "I will never forget this Christmas Eve.".