le you're shaking
your wits together. You'll feel better after you've had a hot dinner."
So struggling with the weariness which nearly overpowered her, Lloyd
forced herself to follow Betty's example, and go down to the dining-room
when the bell rang. An hour later she fell into line with the other
girls, as, all in white, they filed into the chapel.

"How Christmasey it looks and smells," she whispered to Allison, as the
doors swung open and a breath from the pine woods greeted them. The
chancel was wreathed and festooned with masses of evergreen. To-night
tall white candles furnished the only light. Far down the dim aisles
they twinkled like stars against the dark background of cedar and
hemlock.

Betty was glad that they had entered early. The deep silence of those
moments of waiting, the dim light of the Christmas tapers, and the
fragrance of the pine seemed as much a part of the service as anything
which followed. In the expectant hush that filled the little chapel, she
pictured the three kings riding through the night, until she could
almost see the shadowy desert and hear the tread of the camels who bore
the wise men on their starlit quest. She saw the hillside of Judea,
where the shepherds kept their night-watch by their flocks, and all the
mystery and wonder of the first great Christmastide seemed to vibrate
through her heart, as the deep organ prelude suddenly filled the air
with the jubilant chords of "Joy to the world, the Lord has come."

Presently the music changed, and the girls looked around expectantly.
From far down distant halls and corridors came a chorus of girlish
voices: "Oh, little town of Bethlehem." So sweet and far away it was,
the audience in the chapel involuntarily leaned forward to listen.
Across the campus it sounded, gradually drawing nearer and clearer,
until, with a triumphant burst of melody, the doors swung open and the
white-robed choir swept in.

Only the best voices in the school had been chosen for this choir, and
weeks of training preceded the service. One after another they sang the
sweet old tunes of the Christmas waits until they reached Lloyd's
favourite, "Let nothing you dismay." She listened to it with pleasure
now, since her greatest cause for dismay had been removed. She had kept
tryst with the term's obligations, as the last pearl on the rosary could
testify.

In the hush that followed that carol, an old man, with silvery hair and
benign face, rose under the tall c