ime, when every one seemed
merry except herself. And yes, yes! Most of all she hated children. She
clenched her teeth wickedly; her mind reeled.

Suddenly, somewhere, a chorus of happy voices began to sing the words of an
old carol:--

"Holy night! Peaceful night!
All is dark save the light,
Yonder where they sweet vigil keep,
O'er the Babe who in silent sleep
Rests in heavenly peace."

Softly and sweetly the childish voices ascended from the street. The woman
in black stopped short, breathing hard. She saw the band of choristers
standing in a group on the sidewalk and in the snow, their hats pulled down
over their eyes, their collars turned up around their ears, their hands
deep in pockets. In their midst rose the tall wooden cross carried by a
little fellow with yellow hair. They sang as simply and as heartily as a
flock of birds out in the snow.

The woman gave a great sob. Her little lad had been a choir boy,--perhaps
these were his one-time comrades. The second verse of the carol rang out
sweetly:--

"Holy night! Peaceful night!
Only for shepherds' sight
Came blest visions of angel throngs,
With their loud Hallelujah songs,
Saying, Jesus is come!"

Suddenly it seemed to the distracted mother that her own boy's voice
blended with those others. He too was singing in honor of that Child. Happy
and ever young, he was bidding her rejoice in the day which made all
childhood sacred. And for his sake she had been hating children!

With a sudden revulsion of feeling she turned to see what had become of the
poor mother and her boys. They were not far behind, huddling in the shadow.
The black woman strode quickly up to them. They shrank pitifully at her
approach, and she felt the shame of it. They were afraid of her!

"Here," she said, thrusting the Noah's ark into the hands of the larger
boy. "Take it. It belongs to you."

The child took it timidly. The mother began to protest thanks. Trying to
control the shake in her voice the dark lady spoke again. "Have you
prepared a Christmas for your children?"

The woman shook her head. "I have nothing," she sighed. "A roof over our
heads, that's all."

"Your husband?"

"My man died a month ago."

So other folk had raw sorrows, too. The mourner had forgotten that.

"There is no one expecting you at home?" Again the woman shook her head
dolefully. "Come with me," said the dark lady impulsively. "You shall be my
guests t