Star over Bethlehem by Agatha Christie Read Free Book Online

I need four. And anyway, yours is much too big.”
    â€œThat’s why I thought we could make it into four—with a little adjustment.” The woman’s fingers strayed over it pushing, pulling.
    â€œThere! How’s that?”
    â€œWell, I never! However did you—Now, if we’d got a nail or two—or a screw. I’ll get my hubby—”
    â€œI think I can manage.” She bent over the pram. Mrs. Badstock peered down to try and see what was happening.
    The other woman straightened up suddenly. The pram stood on four wheels.
    â€œIt will want a little oil, and some new lining.”
    â€œI can see to that easy! What a boon it will be. You’re quite a little home mechanic, aren’t you, ducks? How on earth did you manage it?”
    â€œI don’t know really,” said St. Catherine vaguely. “It just—happens.”
    The tall woman in the brocade dress said with authority: “Bring them up to the house. There’s plenty of room.”
    The man and the woman looked at her suspiciously. Their six children did the same.
    â€œThe Council are finding us somewhere,” said the man sullenly.
    â€œBut they’re going to separate us,” said the woman.
    â€œAnd you don’t want that?”
    â€œOf course we don’t.”
    Three of the children began to cry.
    â€œShut your bloody mouths,” said the man, but without rancour.
    â€œBeen saying they’d evict us for a long time,” said the man. “Now they’ve done it. Always whining about their rent. I’ve better things to do with my money than pay rent. That’s Councils all over for you.”
    He was not a nice man. His wife was not very nice either, St. Barbara thought. But they loved their children.
    â€œYou’d better all come up to my place,” she said.
    â€œWhere is it?”
    â€œUp there.” She pointed.
    They turned to look.
    â€œBut—that’s a Castle ,” the woman exclaimed in awestruck tones.
    â€œYes, it’s a Castle all right. So you see, there will be lots of room …”
    St. Scoithín stood rather doubtfully on the seashore. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with his Salmon.
    He could smoke it, of course—it would last longer that way. The trouble was that it was really only the rich who like smoked salmon, and the rich had quite enough things already. The poor much preferred their salmon in tins. Perhaps—
    The Salmon writhed in his hands, and St. Scoithín jumped.
    â€œMaster,” said the Salmon.
    St. Scoithín looked at it.
    â€œIt is nearly a thousand years since I saw the sea,” said the Salmon pleadingly.
    St. Scoithín smiled at him affectionately. He walked out on the sea, and lowered the Salmon gently into the water.
    â€œGo with God,” he said.
    He walked back to the shore, and almost immediately stumbled over a big heap of tins of salmon with a purple flower stuck on top of them.
    St. Cristina was walking along a crowded City street. The traffic roared past her. The air was full of diesel fumes.
    â€œThis is terrible,” said St. Cristina, holding her nose. “I must do something about this. And why don’t they empty the dustbins oftener? It’s very bad for people.” She pondered. “Perhaps I had better go into Parliament …”
    St. Peter was busy setting out his Loaf and Fish stall.
    â€œOld Age Pensioners first,” he said. “Come on, Granddad.”
    â€œAre you National Assistance?” the old man asked suspiciously.
    â€œThat kind of thing.”
    â€œNot religious, is it? I’m not going to sing hymns.”
    â€œWhen the food’s all gone, I shall preach,” said Peter. “But you don’t have to stay on and listen.”
    â€œSounds fair enough. What are you going to preach about?”
    â€œSomething quite simple. Just how to attain Eternal Life.”
    A younger man gave a hoot of