Often did the Woodcutter and his wife chide him, saying: 'We did not deal with thee as thou dealest with those who are left desolate and have none to succour them. Wherefore art thou so cruel to all who need pity?'
Often did the old priest send for him, seeking to teach him the love of living things: 'The fly is thy brother. Do it no harm. The wild birds that roam through the forest have their freedom. Snare them not for thy pleasure. God made the blind-worm and the mole, and each has its place. Who art thou to bring pain into God's world?'
But the Star-Child heeded not their words. He would frown and flout, and go back to lead his companions. They followed him, for he was fair, fleet of foot, and could dance and make music. When he pierced the dim eyes of the mole with a sharp reed, they laughed. When he cast stones at the leper, they laughed also. In all things he ruled them, and they became hard of heart, even as he was.
One day, a poor beggar-woman passed through the village. Her garments were torn and ragged, her feet bleeding from the rough road. Weary, she sat under a chestnut-tree to rest.
When the Star-Child saw her, he said to his companions, 'See! There sitteth a foul beggar-woman under that fair tree. Come, let us drive her hence, for she is ugly and ill-favoured.'
He threw stones at her and mocked her. She looked at him with terror, her gaze fixed. The Woodcutter, who was cleaving logs nearby, saw this and ran up to rebuke him: 'Surely thou art hard of heart and knowest not mercy. What evil has this poor woman done to thee?'
The Star-Child grew red with anger, stamped his foot, and said, 'Who art thou to question me? I am no son of thine.'
'Thou speakest truly,' answered the Woodcutter, 'yet did I show thee pity when I found thee in the forest.'
Hearing this, the woman gave a loud cry and fell into a swoon. The Woodcutter carried her to his house, where his wife cared for her. When she revived, they offered her food and drink.
But she would neither eat nor drink. Instead, she asked the Woodcutter, 'Didst thou not say the child was found in the forest? Was it not ten years ago this day?'
'Yea,' he answered.
'And what signs didst thou find with him?' she cried. 'Bare he not upon his neck a chain of amber? Was not round him a cloak of gold tissue broidered with stars?'
'Truly,' answered the Woodcutter. He fetched the cloak and the amber chain from a chest and showed them to her.
Seeing them, she wept for joy. 'He is my little son whom I lost in the forest! I pray thee send for him quickly, for in search of him have I wandered over the whole world.'
The Woodcutter and his wife called to the Star-Child, saying, 'Go into the house, and there shalt thou find thy mother, who is waiting for thee.'
He ran in, filled with wonder and gladness. But upon seeing the woman, he laughed scornfully. 'Why, where is my mother? For I see none here but this vile beggar-woman.'
'I am thy mother,' she answered.
'Thou art mad to say so!' cried the Star-Child angrily. 'I am no son of thine, for thou art a beggar, and ugly, and in rags. Therefore get thee hence, and let me see thy foul face no more.'