[Illustration: "It's a good thing to exercise the imagination, now and then. That's the way changes come"] [Decoration] On Christmas Day In The Evening by Grace S. Richmond Illustrated by Charles M. Relyea A. L. Burt Company Publishers New York All Rights Reserved, Including that of Translation into Foreign Languages, Including the Scandinavian Copyright 1910 Doubleday Page & Company Copyright, 1910, By The Ridgway Company Illustrations "It's a good thing to exercise the imagination, now and then. That's the way changes come" _Frontispiece_ Facing Page "Cut it out--cut out the steam calliope!" 22 "Billy!" His sister Margaret's voice was anxious. "Are you sure you'd better?" 32 There was flesh and blood in the message he gave them, and it was the message they needed 52 ON CHRISTMAS DAY IN THE EVENING [Decoration] [Decoration] On Christmas Day In The Evening [Music: Holy night! peaceful night! Darkness flies, all is light!] All the Fernald family go back to the old home for Christmas, now, everyyear. Last Christmas was the third on which Oliver and Edson, Ralph andGuy, Carolyn and Nan, were all at the familiar fireside, as they usedto be in the days before they were married. The wives and husbands andchildren go too--when other family claims can be compromised with--andno one of them, down to Carolyn's youngest baby, who was not a year oldlast Christmas, has sustained a particle of harm from the snowy journeyto North Estabrook, tucked away though it is among the hills, where thedrifts are deep. Taking them all together they are quite a company. And as Father andMother Fernald are getting rather well along in years, and such ahouse-party means a good deal of preparation, last year their youngerdaughter Nan, and her husband, Sam Burnett: and their youngest son, Guy, and his wife of a year, Margaret: went up to North Estabrook two daysahead of the rest, to help with the finishing labours. Sam Burnett andGuy Fernald, being busy young men all the year round, thought it greatsport to get up into the country in the winter, and planned, for afortnight beforehand, to be able to manage this brief vacation. As forNan and Margaret--they are always the best of friends. As for Father andMother Fernald---- "I don't know but this is the best part of the party, " mused JohnFernald, looking from one to another of them, and then at his wife, asthey sat together before the fireplace, on the evening of the arrival. "It was all over so quick, last year, and you were all piling back totown, to your offices, in such a hurry, you boys. Now we can have aspell of quiet talk, before the fun begins. That suits us to a T --eh, Mother?" Mrs. Fernald nodded, smiling. Her hand, held fast in Guy's, rested onhis knee; Nan's charming head, with its modish dressing, lay againsther shoulder. What more could a mother ask? Across the fireplace, SamBurnett, most satisfactory of sons-in-law, and Margaret, Guy's bestbeloved, who had made the year one long honeymoon to him--so hedeclared--completed the little circle. There was much to talk about. To begin with, there was everybody inNorth Estabrook to inquire after; and though North Estabrook is buta very small village, it takes time to inquire after everybody. Quitesuddenly, having asked solicitously concerning a very old woman, whohad nursed most of the Fernald children in their infancy and was alwaysremembered by them with affection, it occurred to Nan to put a questionwhich had been on her mind ever since she had come into town on theafternoon stage. "Speaking of Aunt Eliza, Mother, makes me think of the old church. Sheused to talk so much about liking to hear the bell ring, right up overher head, next door. _Does_ the bell ever ring, these days--or havecobwebs grown over the clapper?" A shadow dropped upon Mrs. Fernald's bright face, but before she couldspeak her husband answered for her. He was more than a little deaf, buthe was listening closely, and he caught the question. "It's a miserable shame, Nancy, but that church hasn't had a door opensince a year ago last July, when the trouble burst out. We haven't had aservice there since. Mother and I drive over to Estabrook when we feellike getting out--but that's not often, come winter-time. Being the onlychurch building in this end of the township, it's pretty bad having itclosed up. But there's the fuss. Folks can't agree what to do, andnobody dares get a preacher here and try to start things up, on theirown responsibility. But we feel it--we sure do. I don't like to look atthe old meeting-house, going by, I declare I don't. It looks lonesome tome. And there's where every one of you children grew up, too, sittingthere in the old family pew, with your legs dangling. It's too bad--it'stoo bad!" "It's barbarous!" Guy exclaimed, in a tone of disgust. "And all over nothing of any real consequence, " sighed Mrs. Fernald, inher gentle way. "We would have given up our ideas gladly, for the sakeof harmony. But--there were so many who felt it necessary to fight tohave their own way. " "And feel that way still, I suppose?" suggested Sam Burnett, cheerfully. "There's a whole lot of that feeling-it-necessary-to-fight, in theworld. I've experienced it myself, at times. " They talked about it for a few minutes, the younger men rather enjoyingthe details of the quarrel, as those may who are outside of an affairsufficiently far to see its inconsistencies and humours. But it wasclearly a subject which gave pain to the older people, and Guy, perceiving this, was about to divert the talk into pleasanter channelswhen Nan gave a little cry. Her eyes were fixed upon the fire, as if shesaw there something startling. "People! --Let's open the church--ourselves--and have a Christmas Dayservice there!" They stared at her for a moment, thinking her half dreaming. But herface was radiant with the light of an idea which was not an idle dream. Guy began to laugh. "And expect the rival factions to come flockingpeaceably in, like lambs to the fold? I think I see them!" "Ignore the rival factions. Have a service for everybody. A realChristmas service, with holly, and ropes of greens, and a star, andmusic--and--a sermon, " she ended, a little more doubtfully. "The sermon, by all means, " quoth Sam Burnett. "Preach at 'em, when onceyou've caught 'em. They'll enjoy that. We all do. " "But it's really a beautiful idea, " said Margaret, her young facecatching the glow from Nan's. "I don't see why it couldn't be carriedout. " "Of course you don't. " Guy spoke decidedly. "If people were all likeyou there wouldn't be any quarrels. But unfortunately they are not. Andwhen I think of the Tomlinsons and the Frasers and the Hills and thePollocks, all going in at the same door for a Christmas Day serviceunder that roof--well----" he gave a soft, long whistle-- "it ratherstrains my imagination. Not that they aren't all good people, you know. Oh, yes! If they weren't, they'd knock each other down in the street andhave it over with--and a splendid thing it would be, too. But, I tellyou, it strains my imagination to----" "Let it strain it. It's a good thing to exercise the imagination, nowand then. That's the way changes come. I don't think the idea's sucha bad one, myself. " Sam Burnett spoke seriously, and Nan gave hima grateful glance. She was pretty sure of Sam's backing, in mostreasonable things--and a substantial backing it was to have, too. "Who would conduct such a service?" Mrs. Fernald asked thoughtfully. "You couldn't get anybody out to church on Christmas morning, " broke inMr. Fernald, chuckling. "Every mother's daughter of 'em will be bastingher Christmas turkey. " "Then have it Christmas evening. Why not? The day isn't over. Nobodyknows what to do Christmas evening--except go to dances--and there'snever a dance in North Estabrook. Whom can we get to lead it? Well----"Nan paused, thinking it out. Her eyes roamed from Sam's to her fathers, and from there on around the circle, while they all waited for herto have an inspiration. Nobody else had one. Presently, as theyexpected--for Nan was a resourceful young person--her face lightedup again. She gazed at Margaret, smiling, and her idea seemed tocommunicate itself to Guy's wife. Together they cried, in one breath: "Billy!" "Billy! Whoop-ee!" Guy threw back his head and roared with delightat the notion. "The Reverend Billy, of St. Johns, coming up to NorthEstabrook to take charge of a Christmas-evening service! Why, Billy'llbe dining in purple and fine linen at the home of one of his millionaireparishioners--the Edgecombs', most likely. I think they adore him most. _Billy!_ --Why don't you ask the Bishop himself?" Margaret flushed brightly. The Reverend William Sewall was her brother. He might be the very manly and dignified young rector of a fashionablecity church, but no man who answers to the name of Billy in his ownfamily can be a really formidable personage, and he and his sisterMargaret were undeniably great chums. "Of course Billy would, " cried Margaret. "You know perfectly wellhe would, Guy, dear. He doesn't care a straw about millionaires'dinners--he'd rather have an evening with his newsboys' club, anytime. He has his own service Christmas morning, of course, but inthe evening--He could come up on the afternoon train--he'd love to. Why, Billy's a bachelor--he's nothing in the world to keep him. I'lltelephone him, first thing in the morning. " From this point on there was no lack of enthusiasm. If Billy Sewallwas coming to North Estabrook, as Sam Burnett remarked, it was timeto get interested--and busy. They discussed everything, excitementmounting--the music, the trimming of the church--then, more prosaically, the cleaning and warming and lighting of it. Finally, the making knownto North Estabrook the news of the coming event--for nothing less thanan event it was sure to be to North Estabrook. "Put a notice in the post office, " advised Guy, comfortably crossinghis legs and grinning at his father, "and tell Aunt Eliza and Miss JanePollock, and the thing is done. Sam, I think I see you spending the nexttwo days at the top of ladders, hanging greens. I have a dim and hazyvision of you on your knees before that stove that always used to smokewhen the wind was east--the one in the left corner--praying to it toquit fussing and draw. A nice, restful Christmas vacation you'll have!" Sam Burnett looked at his wife. "She's captain, " said he. "If she wantsto play with the old meeting-house, play she shall--so long as shedoesn't ask me to preach the sermon. " "You old dear!" murmured Nan, jumping up to stand behind his chair, hertwo pretty arms encircling his stout neck from the rear. "You _could_preach a better sermon than lots of ministers, if you are only anupright old bank cashier. " "Doubtless, Nancy, doubtless, " murmured Sam, pleasantly. "But as it willtake the wisdom of a Solomon, the tact of a Paul, and the eloquence ofthe Almighty Himself to preach a sermon on the present occasion thatwill divert the Tomlinsons and the Frasers, the Hills and the Pollocksfrom glaring at each other across the pews, I don't think I'll apply forthe job. Let Billy Sewall tackle it. There's one thing about it--if theyget to fighting in the aisles Billy'll leap down from the pulpit, rollup his sleeves, and pull the combatants apart. A virile religion isBilly's, and I rather think he's the man for the hour. " II "Hi, there, Ol--why not get something doing with that hammer? Don'tyou see the edge of that pulpit stair-carpeting is all frazzled? Thepreacher'll catch his toes in it, and then where'll his ecclesiasticaldignity be?" The slave-driver was Guy, shouting down from the top of a tallstep-ladder, where he was busy screwing into place the freshly cleanedoil-lamps whose radiance was to be depended upon to illumine the ancientinterior of the North Estabrook church. He addressed his eldest brother, Oliver, who, in his newness to the situation and his consequent lack ofsympathy with the occasion, was proving but an indifferent worker. Thismay have been partly due to the influence of Oliver's wife, Marian, who, sitting--in Russian sables--in one of the middle pews, was doing whatshe could to depress the labourers. The number of these, by the way, hadbeen reinforced by the arrival of the entire Fernald clan, to spendChristmas. "Your motive is undoubtedly a good one, " Mrs. Oliver conceded. She spoketo Nan, busy near her, and she gazed critically about the shabby oldwalls, now rapidly assuming a quite different aspect as the great ropesof laurel leaves swung into place under the direction of Sam Burnett. That young man now had Edson Fernald and Charles Wetmore--Carolyn'shusband--to assist him, and he was making the most of his opportunityto order about two gentlemen who had shown considerable reluctance toremove their coats, but who were now--to his satisfaction--perspiring sofreely that they had some time since reached the point of casting asidestill other articles of apparel. "But I shall be much surprised, "Mrs. Oliver continued, "if you attain your object. Nobody can be moreobstinate in their prejudice than the people of such a little place asthis. You may get them out--though I doubt even that--but you are quiteas likely as not to set them by the ears and simply make matters worse. " "It's Christmas, " replied Nan. Her cheeks were the colour of the hollyberries in the great wreaths she was arranging to place on either sideof the wall behind the pulpit. "They can't quarrel at Christmas--notwith Billy Sewall preaching peace on earth, good will to men, to them. --Jessica, please hand me that wire--and come and hold this wreath aminute, will you?" "Nobody expects Marian to be on any side but the other one, " consolinglywhispered merry-faced Jessica, Edson's wife--lucky fellow!--as she heldthe wreath for Nan to affix the wire. "What's that about Sewall?" Oliver inquired. "I hadn't heard of that. You don't mean to say Sewell's coming up for this service?" "Of course he is. Margaret telephoned him this morning, and he said he'dnever had a Christmas present equal to this one. He said it interestedhim a lot more than his morning service in town, and he'd be up, loaded. Isn't that fine of Billy?" Nan beamed triumphantly at her oldestbrother, over her holly wreath. "That puts a different light on it. " And Mr. Oliver Fernald, presidentof the great city bank of which Sam Burnett was cashier, got promptlydown on the knees of his freshly pressed trousers, and proceeded to tackthe frazzled edge of the pulpit stair-carpet with interest and skill. That stair-carpet had been tacked by a good many people before him, but doubtless it had never been stretched into place by a man whoseeye-glasses sat astride of a nose of the impressive, presidential mouldof this one. "Do I understand that you mean to attempt music?" Mrs. Oliver seemedgrieved at the thought. "There are several good voices in the family, of course, but you haven't had time to practise any Christmas musictogether. You will have merely to sing hymns. " "Fortunately, some of the old hymns are Christmas music, of the mostexquisite sort, " began Nan, trying hard to keep her temper--a feat whichwas apt to give her trouble when Marian was about. But, at the moment, as if to help her, up in the old organ-loft, at the back of the church, Margaret began to sing. Everybody looked up in delight, for Margaret'svoice was the pride of the family, and with reason. Somebody was at theorgan--the little reed organ. It proved to be Carolyn--Mrs. CharlesWetmore. For a moment the notes rose harmoniously. Then came aninterval--and the organ wailed. There was a shout of protest, fromthe top of Guy's step-ladder: "Cut it out--cut out the steam calliope!--unless you want a burlesque. That organ hasn't been tuned since the deluge--and they didn't get allthe water out then. " "I won't hit that key again, " called Carolyn. "Listen, you people. " "Listen! You can't help listening when a cat yowls on the back fence, "retorted Guy. "Go it alone; Margaret, girl. " But the next instant nobody was jeering, for Margaret's voice had neverseemed sweeter than from the old choir-loft. "_Over the hills of Bethlehem, Lighted by a star, Wise men came with offerings, From the East afar. .. . _" [Illustration: "Cut it out--cut out the steam calliope!"] It took them all, working until late on Christmas Eve, to do all thatneeded to be done. Once their interest was aroused, nothing short ofthe best possible would content them. But when, at last, Nan and Sam, lingering behind the others, promising to see that the fires were safe, stood together at the back of the church for a final survey, they feltthat their work had been well worth while. All the lights were out butone on either side, and the dim interior, with its ropes and wreathsof green, fragrant with the woodsy smell which veiled the musty oneinevitable in a place so long closed, seemed to have grown beautifulwith a touch other than that of human hands. "Don't you believe, Sammy, " questioned Nan, with her tired cheek againsther husband's broad shoulder, "the poor old 'meeting-house' is happierto-night than it has been for a long, long while?" "I think I should be, " returned Sam Burnett, falling in with his wife'smood, "if after a year and a half of cold starvation somebody hadsuddenly warmed me and fed me and made me hold up my head again. It doeslook pretty well--much better than I should have thought it could, whenI first saw it in its barrenness. --I wonder what the North Estabrookpeople are thinking about this--that's what I wonder. Do you supposethe Tomlinsons and the Pollocks and the rest of them have talked aboutanything else to-day?" "Not much else. " Nan smiled contentedly. Then suddenly: "O Sam--thepresents aren't all tied up! We must hurry back. This is the firstChristmas Eve I can remember when the rattling of tissue paper wasn'tthe chief sound on the air. " "If this thing goes off all right, " mused Burnett, as he examined thestoves once more, before putting out the lights, "it'll be the biggestChristmas present North Estabrook ever had. Peace and good will--Jove, but they need it! And so do we all--so do we all. " III "There go pretty near every one of the Fernalds, down to the station. Land, but there's a lot of 'em, counting the children. I suppose they'regoing to meet Guy's wife's brother, that they've got up here to leadthese Christmas doings to-night. Queer idea, it strikes me. " Miss Jane Pollock, ensconsed behind the thick "lace curtains" of her"best parlour, " addressed her sister, who lay on the couch in thesitting-room behind, an invalid who could seldom get out, but to whomMiss Jane was accustomed faithfully to report every particle of currentnews. "I suppose they think, " Miss Jane went on, with asperity, "they're goingto fix up the fuss in that church, with their greens and their cityminister preaching brotherly love. I can tell him he'll have to preach apretty powerful sermon to reach old George Tomlinson and Asa Fraser, andmake 'em notice each other as they pass by. And when I see Maria Hillcoming toward me with a smile on her face and her hand out I'll knowsomething's happened. " "I don't suppose, " said the invalid sister rather timidly, from hercouch, "you would feel, Sister, as if you could put out your hand toher first?" "No, I don't, " retorted Miss Jane, very positively. "And I don't seehow you can think it, Deborah. You know perfectly well it was Maria Hillthat started the whole thing--and then talked about me as if I was theone. How that woman did talk--and talks yet! Don't get me thinking aboutit. It's Christmas Day, and I want to keep my mind off such disgracefulthings as church quarrels--if the Fernald family'll let me. A prettybold thing to do, I call it--open up that church on their ownresponsibility, and expect folks to come, and forget the past. --Debby, I wish you could see Oliver's wife, in those furs of hers. She holdsher head as high as ever--but she's the only one of 'em that does itdisagreeably--I'll say that for 'em, if they _are_ all city folks now. And of course she isn't a Fernald. --Here comes Nancy and her husband. That girl don't look a minute older'n when she was married, five yearsago. My, but she's got a lot of style! I must say her skirts don'thang like any North Estabrook dressmaker can make 'em. They'rewalking--hurrying up to catch the rest. Sam Burnett's a good-lookingman, but he's getting a little stout. " "Jane, " said the invalid sister, wistfully, "I wish I could goto-night. " "Well, I wish you could. That is--if I go. I haven't just made up mymind. I wonder if folks'll sit in their old pews. You know the Hills' isjust in front of ours. But as to your going, Deborah, of course that'sout of the question. I suppose I shall go. I shouldn't like to offendthe Fernalds, and they do say Guy's wife's brother is worth hearing. There's to be music, too. " "I wish I could go, " sighed poor Deborah, under her breath. "To be ableto go--and to wonder whether you will! --_O Lord_--" she closed herpatient eyes and whispered it-- "_make them all choose to go--to Thyhouse--this Christmas Day. And to thank Thee that the doors areopen--and that they have strength to go. And help me to bear it--tostay home!_" IV "The problem is--" said the Reverend William Sewall, standing at theback of the church with his sister Margaret, and Guy Fernald, herhusband, and Nan and Sam Burnett--the four who had, as yet, no children, and so could best take time, on Christmas afternoon, to make the finalarrangements for the evening-- "the problem is--to do the right thing, to-night. It would be so mighty easy to do the wrong one. Am I the onlyman to stand in that pulpit--and is it all up to me?" He regarded the pulpit as he spoke, richly hung with Christmas greensand seeming eagerly to invite an occupant. "I should say, " observed his brother-in-law, Guy, his face full ofaffection and esteem for the very admirable figure of a young man whostood before him, "that a fellow who's just pulled off the sort ofservice we know you had at St. John's this morning, wouldn't considerthis one much of a stunt. " Sewall smiled. "Somehow this strikes me as the bigger one, " said he. "The wisest of my old professors used to say that the further you gotinto the country the less it mattered about your clothes but the moreabout your sermon. I've been wondering, all the way up, if I knew enoughto preach that sermon. Isn't there any minister in town, not even avisiting one?" "Not a one. You can't get out of it, Billy Sewall, if you have got anattack of stage-fright--which we don't believe. " "There _is_ one minister, " Nan admitted. "But I'd forgotten all abouthim, till Father mentioned him last night. But he doesn't really countat all. He's old--very old--and infirm. " "Superannuated, they call it, " added Sam Burnett. "Poor old chap. I'veseen him--I met him at the post-office this morning. He has a peacefulface. He's a good man. He must have been a strong one--in his time. " "Had he anything to do with the church trouble?" Sewall demanded, hiskeen brown eyes eager. Nan and Guy laughed. "Old 'Elder Blake'?--not except as he was on his knees, alone at home, praying for the fighters--both sides, " was Guy's explanation. "So Fathersays, and nobody knows better what side people were on. " "If I can get hold of a man whose part in the quarrel was praying forboth sides, I'm off to find him, " said Sewall, decidedly. He picked uphis hat as he spoke. "Tell me where he lives, please. " "Billy!" His sister Margaret's voice was anxious. "Are you sure you'dbetter? Perhaps it would be kind to ask him to make a prayer. But youwon't----" "You won't ask him to preach the sermon, Billy Sewall--promise us that, "cried Guy. "An old man in his dotage!" Sewall smiled again, starting toward the door. Somehow he did not looklike the sort of fellow who could be easily swayed from an intentiononce he had formed it--or be forced to make promises until he wasready. "You've got me up here, " said he, "now you'll have to takethe consequences. Where did you say 'Elder Blake' lives?" And he departed. Those left behind stared at one another, in dismay. "Keep cool, " advised Sam Burnett. "He wants the old man's advice--that'sall. I don't blame him. He wants to understand the situation thoroughly. Nothing like putting your head into a thing before you put your foot in. It saves complications. Sewall's head's level--trust him. " [Illustration: "Billy!" His sister Margaret's voice was anxious. "Are you sure you'd better?"] V "I can't--" said a very old man with a peaceful face--now wearing asomewhat startled expression-- "I can't quite believe you are serious, Mr. Sewall. The people are all expecting you--they will come out to hearyou. I have not preached for--" he hesitated-- "for many years. I willnot say that it would not be--a happiness. If I thought I were fit. But----" "If I were half as fit, " answered Sewall, gently, "I should be veryproud. But I'm--why, I'm barely seasoned, yet. I'm liable to warp, ifI'm exposed to the weather. But you--with all the benefit of your longexperience--you're the sort of timber that needs to be built into thisstrange Christmas service. I hadn't thought much about it, Mr. Blake, till I was on my way here. I accepted the invitation too readily. Butwhen I did begin to think, I felt the need of help. I believe you cangive it. It's a critical situation. You know these people, root andbranch. I may say the wrong thing. You will know how to say the rightone. " "If I should consent, " the other man said, after a silence during which, with bent white head, he studied the matter, "what would be your part?Should you attempt--" he glanced at the clerical dress of his caller--"to carry through the service of your--Church?" Sewall's face, which had been grave, relaxed. "No, Mr. Blake, " saidhe. "It wouldn't be possible, and it wouldn't be--suitable. This is acommunity which would probably prefer any other service, and it shouldhave its preference respected. A simple form, as nearly as possible likewhat it has been used to, will be best--don't you think so? I believethere is to be considerable music. I will read the Story of the Birth, and will try to make a prayer. The rest I will leave to you. " "And Him, " added the old man. "And Him, " agreed the young man, reverently. Then a bright smile brokeover his face, and he held out his hand. "I'm no end grateful to you, sir, " he said, a certain attractive boyishness of manner suddenly cominguppermost and putting to flight the dignity which was at times a heavierweight than he could carry. "No end. Don't you remember how it used tobe, when you first went into the work, and tackled a job now and thenthat seemed too big for you? Then you caught sight of a pair ofshoulders that looked to you broader than yours--the muscles developedby years of exercise--and you were pretty thankful to shift the load onto them? You didn't want to shirk--Heaven forbid!--but you just felt youdidn't know enough to deal with the situation. Don't you remember?" The old man, with a gently humorous look, glanced down at his own thin, bent shoulders, then at the stalwart ones which towered above him. "You speak metaphorically, my dear lad, " he said quaintly, with a kindlytwinkle in his faded blue eyes. He laid his left hand on the firm youngarm whose hand held his shrunken right. "But I do remember--yes, yes--Iremember plainly enough. And though it seems to me now as if thestrength were all with the young and vigorous in body, it may be thatI should be glad of the years that have brought me experience. " "And tolerance, " added William Sewall, pressing the hand, his eyes heldfast by Elder Blake's. "And love, " yet added the other. "Love. That's the great thing--that'sthe great thing. I do love this community--these dear people. They aregood people at heart--only misled as to what is worth standing out for. I would see them at peace. Maybe I can speak to them. God knows--I willtry. " VI "The Fernald family alone will fill the church, " observed the bachelorson of the house, Ralph. He leaned out from his place at the tail of theprocession to look ahead down the line, where the dark figures showedclearly against the snow. By either hand he held a child--his sisterCarolyn's oldest, his brother Edson's youngest. "So it won't matter muchif nobody else comes out. We're all here--'some in rags, and some intags, and some in velvet gowns'. " "I can discern the velvet gowns, " conceded Edson, from his place justin front, where his substantial figure supported his mother's frail one. "But I fail to make out any rags. Take us by and large, we seem to putup rather a prosperous front. I never noticed it quite so decidedly asthis year. " "There's nothing at all ostentatious about the girls' dressing, dear, "said his mother's voice in his ear. "And I noticed they all put on theirsimplest clothes for to-night--as they should. " "Oh, yes, " Edson chuckled. "That's precisely why they look soprosperous. That elegant simplicity--gad!--you should see the bills thatcome in for it. Jess isn't an extravagant dresser, as women go--not bya long shot--_but!_" He whistled a bar or two of ragtime. "I can seemyself now, as a lad, sitting on that fence over there--" he indicated aline of rails, half buried in snow, which outlined the borders of an oldapple orchard-- "counting the quarters in my trousers pockets, earned byhard labour in the strawberry patch. I thought it quite a sum, but itwouldn't have bought----" "A box of the cigars you smoke now, " interjected Ralph unexpectedly, from behind. "Hullo--there's the church! Jolly, but the old buildinglooks bright, doesn't it? I didn't know oil lamps could put up such anillumination. --And see the folks going in!" "See them coming--from all directions. " Nan, farther down the line, clutched Sam Burnett's arm. "Oh, I knew they'd come out--I knew theywould!" "Of course they'll come out. " This was Mrs. Oliver. "Locks and barscouldn't keep a country community at home, when there is anything goingon. But as to the _feeling_--that is a different matter. --Oliver, dotake my muff. I want to take off my veil. There will be no chance once Iam inside the door. Nan is walking twice as fast now as when we started. She will have us all up the aisle before----" "Where's Billy Sewall bolting to?" Guy sent back this stage-whisper fromthe front of the procession, to Margaret, his wife, who was walking withFather Fernald, her hand on his gallant arm. In John Fernald's day a manalways offered his arm to the lady he escorted. "He caught sight of Mr. Blake, across the road. They're going intogether, " Margaret replied. "I think Mr. Blake is to have a part inthe service. " "Old Ebenezer Blake? You don't say!" Father Fernald ejaculated inastonishment. He had not been told of Sewall's visit to the agedminister. "Well--well--that is thoughtful of William Sewall. I don't suppose Elder Blake has taken part in a service in fifteenyears--twenty, maybe. He used to be a great preacher, too, in his day. I used to listen to him, when I was a young man, and think he could putthings in about as interesting a way as any preacher I ever heard. Goodman, too, he was--and is. But nobody's thought of asking him to make aprayer in public since--I don't know when. --Well, well--look at thepeople going in! I guess we'd better be getting right along to ourseats, or there won't be any left. " VII The organ was playing--very softly. Carolyn was a skilful manipulatorof keyboards, and she had discovered that by carefully refraining fromthe use of certain keys--discreetly marked by postage stamps--she couldproduce a not unmusical effect of subdued harmony. This unquestionablyadded very much to the impression of a churchly atmosphere, carried outto the eye by the Christmas wreathing and twining of the heavy ropes ofshining laurel leaves, and by the massing of the whole pulpit-front inthe soft, dark green of hemlock boughs and holly. To the people whoentered the house with vivid memories of the burning July day when wordshardly less burning had seemed to scorch the barren walls, this lamp-litinterior, clothed with the garments of the woods and fragrant with theirbreath, seemed a place so different that it could hardly be the same. But the faces were the same--the faces. And George Tomlinson did notlook at Asa Fraser, though he passed him in the aisle, beard to beard. Miss Jane Pollock stared hard at the back of Mrs. Maria Hill's bonnet, in the pew in front of her, but when Mrs. Hill turned about to glance upat the organ-loft, to discover who was there, Miss Pollock's face becameas adamant, and her eyes remained fixed on her folded hands until Mrs. Hill had twisted about again, and there was no danger of their glancesencountering. All over the church, likewise, were people who avoidedseeing each other, though conscious, all down their rigid backbones, that those with whom they had fallen out on that unhappy July day werepresent. There was no vestry in the old meeting-house; no retiring place of anysort where the presiding minister might stay until the moment came forhim to make his quiet and impressive entrance through a softly openingpulpit door. So when the Reverend William Sewall of St. John's, of theneighbouring city, came into the North Estabrook sanctuary, it was ashis congregation had entered, through the front door and up the aisle. There was a turning of heads to see him come, but there was a staringof eyes, indeed, when it was seen by whom he was accompanied. The erectfigure of the young man, in his unexceptionable attire, walked slowly, to keep pace with the feeble footsteps of the very old man in histhreadbare garments of the cut of half a century ago, and the sight ofthe two together was one of the most strangely touching things that hadever met the eyes of the people of North Estabrook. It may be said, therefore, that from that first moment there was an unexpected andunreckoned-with influence abroad in the place. Now, to the subdued notes of the organ, which had been occupied withone theme, built upon with varying harmonies but ever appearing--thoughperhaps no ear but a trained one would have recognized it through theveil--was added the breath of voices. It was only an old Christmascarol, the music that of a German folk song, but dear to generationsof Christmas singers everywhere. The North Estabrook people recognizedit--yet did not recognize it. They had never heard it sung like thatbefore. "_Holy night! peaceful night! All is dark, save the light Yonder where they sweet vigils keep O'er the Babe, who in silent sleep Rests in heavenly peace. _" It was the presence of Margaret Sewall Fernald which had made itpossible to attempt music at this service--the music which it seemedimpossible to do without. Her voice was one of rare beauty, herleadership that of training. Her husband, Guy, possessed a reliable, if uncultivated, bass. Edson had sung a fair tenor in his collegeglee-club. By the use of all her arts of persuasion Nan had provided analto singer, from the ranks of the choir which had once occupied thisorgan-loft--the daughter of Asa Fraser. Whether the quartette thusformed would have passed muster--as a quartette--with the choir-masterof St. John's, may have been a question, but it is certain the musicthey produced was so far above that which the old church had ever heardbefore within its walls that had the singers been a detachment from thechoir celestial those who heard them could hardly have listened withears more charmed. As "Holy Night" came down to him, William Sewall bent his head. ButEbenezer Blake lifted his. His dim blue eyes looked up--up and up--quitethrough the old meeting-house roof--to the starry skies where it seemedto him angels sang again. He forgot the people assembled in front ofhim--he forgot the responsibilities upon his shoulders--those bentshoulders which had long ago laid down such responsibilities. He sawvisions. It is the old men who see visions. The young men dream dreams. The young city rector read the Christmas Story--out of the worn copy ofthe Scriptures which had served this pulpit almost from the beginning. He read it in the rich and cultivated voice of his training, but quitesimply. Then Margaret sang, to the slender accompaniment of the littleorgan, the same solo which a famous soprano had sung that morning atthe service at St. John's--and her brother William, listening from thepulpit, thought she sang it better. There was the quality in Margaret'svoice which reaches hearts--a quality which somehow the famous soprano'snotes had lacked. And every word could be heard, too--the quietthroughout the house was so absolute--except when Asa Fraser clearedhis throat loudly in the midst of one of the singer's most beautifulnotes. At the sound Mrs. George Tomlinson gave him a glance which oughtto have annihilated him--but it did not. She could not know that thethroat-clearing was a high tribute to the song--coming from Asa Fraser. "_How silently, how silently, The wondrous gift is given; So God imparts to human hearts The blessing of His heaven. .. . O Holy Child of Bethlehem! Descend to us, we pray; Cast out our sin, and enter in, Be born in us to-day. _" Then William Sewall made a prayer. Those who had been looking to see oldElder Blake take this part in the service began to wonder if he had beenasked into the pulpit simply as a courtesy. They supposed he could pray, at least. They knew he had never ceased doing it--and for them. ElderBlake had not an enemy in the village. It seemed strange that hecouldn't be given some part, in spite of his extreme age. To be sure, itwas many years since anybody had asked him to take part in any servicewhatsoever, even a funeral service--for which, as is well understood, a man retains efficiency long after he has ceased to be of use in thepulpit, no matter how devastating may be the weather. But that fact didnot seem to bear upon the present situation. A number of people, among them Miss Jane Pollock, were beginning to feelmore than a little indignant about it, and so lost the most of Sewall'sprayer, which was a good one, and not out of the prayer-book, thoughthere were phrases in it which suggested that source, as was quitenatural. The city man meant to do it all, then. Doubtless he thoughtnobody from the country knew how to do more than to pronounce thebenediction. Doubtless that was to be Elder Blake's insignificantpart--to pronounce the---- Miss Jane Pollock looked up quickly. She had been staring steadily atthe back of Maria Hill's mink collar, in front of her, through theclosing sentences of the prayer. But what was this? Elder Blake hadrisen and was coming forward. Was he going to read a hymn? But he had nobook. And he had taken off his spectacles. He could see better, as wasknown, without his spectacles, when looking at a distance. William Sewall's prayer was not ended. He could no longer be heard bythe people, but in his seat, behind the drooping figure of the old man, he was asking things of the Lord as it seemed to him he had never askedanything before. Could His poor, feeble, "superannuated" old servantever speak the message that needed to be spoken that night? WilliamSewall felt more than ever that he himself could not have done it. Could Ebenezer Blake? "_Make him strong, O God, --make him strong_, " requested William Sewall, fervently. Then, forgetting even a likeness to prayer-book phrase, headded, with fists unconsciously tight-clenched, in the language of theathletic field where a few years back he himself had taken part in manya hard-fought battle-- "_Help him to buck up!_" VIII They talk about it yet, in North Estabrook, though it happened a yearago. Nobody knew how it was that from a frail old man with a tremblingvoice, which, in its first sentences, the people back of the middle ofthe church could hardly hear, there came to stand before them a fierymessenger from the skies. But such was the miracle--for it seemed noless. The bent figure straightened, the trembling voice grew clearand strong, the dim eyes brightened, into the withered cheeks flowedcolour--into the whole aged personality came slowly but surely back thefires of youth. And once more in a public place Ebenezer Blake becamethe mouthpiece of the Master he served. [Illustration: There was flesh and blood in the message he gave them, and it was the message they needed] Peace and good will? Oh, yes--he preached it--no doubt of that. But itwas no milk-and-water peace, no sugar-and-spice good will. There wasflesh and blood in the message he gave them, and it was the message theyneeded. Even his text was not the gentle part of the Christmas prophecy, it was the militant part-- "_And the government shall be upon Hisshoulder. _" They were not bidden to lie down together like lambs, they were summoned to march together like lions--the lions of the Lord. As William Sewall looked down into the faces of the people and watchedthe changing expressions there, he felt that the strange, strong, challenging words were going home. He saw stooping shoulders straighteneven as the preacher's had straightened; he saw heads come up, and eyesgrow light;--most of all, he saw that at last the people had forgottenone another and were remembering--God. Suddenly the sermon ended. As preachers of a later day have learned theart of stopping abruptly with a striking climax, so this preacher froman earlier generation, his message delivered, ceased to speak. He lefthis hearers breathless. But after a moment's pause, during which thesilence was a thing to be felt, the voice spoke again. It no longerrang--it sank into a low pleading, in words out of the Book upon whichthe clasped old hands rested: "_Now, therefore, O our God, hear the prayer of Thy servant and hissupplications, and cause Thy face to shine upon Thy sanctuary that isdesolate, for the Lord's sake. _" IX Up in the choir-loft, chokily Guy whispered to Margaret, "Can't we endwith 'Holy Night, ' again? Nothing else seems to fit, after that. " She nodded, her eyes wet. It had not been thought best to ask thecongregation to sing. There was no knowing whether anybody would sing ifthey were asked. Now, it seemed fortunate that it had been so arranged, for somehow the congregation did not look exactly as if it could sing. Certainly not George Tomlinson, for he had a large frog in his throat. Not Asa Fraser, for he had a furious cold in his head. Not Maria Hill, for though she hunted vigorously, high and low, for her handkerchief, she was unable to locate it, and the front of her best black silk wasrapidly becoming shiny in spots--a fact calculated to upset anybody'ssinging. Not even Miss Jane Pollock, for though no tears bedewedher bright black eyes, there was a peculiar heaving quality in herbreathing, which suggested an impediment of some sort not to be readilyovercome. And it may be safely said that there was not a baker's dozenof people left in the church who could have carried through the mostfamiliar hymn without breaking down. So the four in the organ loft sang "Holy Night" again. They could nothave done a better thing. It is a holy night, indeed, when a messengerfrom heaven comes down to this world of ours, though he take the form ofan old, old man with a peaceful face--but with eyes which can flash oncemore with a light which is not of earth, and with lips upon which, forone last mighty effort, has been laid a coal from off the altar of thegreat High Priest. _"Silent Night! Holy night! Darkness flies, all is light! Shepherds hear the angels sing-- Hallelujah! hail the king! Jesus Christ is here!"_ X George Tomlinson came heavily out of his pew. He had at last succeededin getting rid of the frog in his throat--or thought he had. It hadoccurred to him that perhaps he ought to go up and speak to ElderBlake--now sitting quietly in his chair, with William Sewall bendingover him--though he didn't know exactly what to say that would seemadequate to the occasion. At the same moment, Asa Fraser, still struggling with the cold in hishead, emerged from his pew, directly opposite. The two men did not lookat each other. But as they had been accustomed to allow their meetingglances to clash with the cutting quality of implacable resentment, thisdropping of the eyes on the part of each might have been interpreted toregister a distinct advance toward peace. As each stood momentarily at the opening of his pew, neither quitedetermined whether to turn his face pulpit-ward or door-ward, SamuelBurnett, coming eagerly up to them from the door-ward side, laid afriendly hand on either black-clad arm. Whether Sam was inspired byHeaven, or only by his own strong common-sense and knowledge of men, will never be known. But he had been a popular man in North Estabrook, ever since he had first begun to come there to see Nancy Fernald, andboth Tomlinson and Fraser heartily liked and respected him--a fact heunderstood and was counting on now. "Wasn't it great, Mr. Tomlinson?" said Sam, enthusiastically. "Great--Mr. Fraser?" He looked, smiling, into first one austere face andthen the other. Then he gazed straight ahead of him, up at Elder Blake. "Going up to tell him so? So am I!" He pressed the two arms, continuingin his friendly way to retain his hold on both. "In all the years I'vegone to church, I've never heard preaching like that. It warmed up myheart till I thought it would burst--and it made me want to go to work. " Almost without their own volition Tomlinson and Fraser found themselvesproceeding toward the pulpit--yet Sam's hands did not seem to beexerting any force. The force came from his own vigorous personality, which was one that invariably inspired confidence. If Burnett was goingup to speak to the Elder, it seemed only proper that they, the leadingmen of the church, should go too. William Sewall, having assured himself that his venerable associatewas not suffering from a more than natural exhaustion after his supremeeffort, stood still by his side, looking out over the congregation. He now observed an interesting trio approaching the platform, composedof his valued friend, Samuel Burnett--his fine face alight with hispurpose--and two gray-bearded men of somewhat unpromising exterior, butplainly of prominence in the church, by the indefinable look of them. Hewatched the three climb the pulpit stairs, and come up to the figure inthe chair--Sam, with tact, falling behind. "You did well, Elder--you did well, " said George Tomlinson, strugglingto express himself, and finding only this time-worn phrase. He stoodawkwardly on one foot, before Ebenezer Blake, like an embarrassedschoolboy, but his tone was sincere--and a trifle husky, on accountof the untimely reappearance of the frog in his throat. Elder Blake looked up--and William Sewall thought he had never seen asweeter smile on a human face, young or old. "You are kind to come andtell me so, George, " said he. "I had thought never to preach again. Itdid me good. " "It did us good, sir, " said Sam Burnett. He had waited an instant forFraser to speak, but saw that the cold in the head was in the ascendancyagain. "It did me so much good that I can hardly wait till I get back totown to hunt up a man I know, and tell him I think he was in the rightin a little disagreement we had a good while ago. I've always beenpositive he was wrong. I suppose the facts in the case haven'tchanged--" he smiled into the dim blue eyes-- "but somehow I seem to seethem differently. It doesn't look to me worth while to let them standbetween us any longer. " "Ah, it's not worth while, " agreed the old man quickly. "It's not worthwhile for any of us to be hard on one another, no matter what the facts. Life is pretty difficult, at its best--we can't afford to make it moredifficult for any human soul. Go back to town and make it right withyour friend, Mr. Burnett. I take it he was your friend, or you wouldn'tthink of him to-night. " "Was--and is!" declared Sam, with conviction. "He's got to be, whetherhe wants to or not. But he'll want to--I know that well enough. We'vebeen friends from boyhood--we'd just forgotten it, that's all. " There was a little pause. The old man sat with his white head leaningagainst the high back of his chair, his face upturned, his eyes--withan appeal in them--resting first upon the face of Asa Fraser, then uponthat of George Tomlinson. With a common impulse, William Sewall andSamuel Burnett moved aside together, turning their backs upon the three. Asa Fraser lifted his eyes and met those of George Tomlinson. With apalpable effort--for he was a man of few words--he spoke. "George, " said he, "I guess I made a mistake, thinking as I did. " "Asey, " responded Tomlinson quickly, "I guess you weren't the only onethat's made a mistake. " And he held out his hand. Fraser grasped it. With his other hand he raised his handkerchief andblew his nose once more, violently--and finally. From this point thesmile in his eyes usurped the place of the moisture which had botheredhim so unwontedly, and put it quite to rout. If you imagine that this little drama had escaped the attention of thedeparting congregation, headed the other way, you are much mistaken. Thecongregation was not headed the other way. From the moment when Burnett, Fraser and Tomlinson had started toward the pulpit, the congregation, toa man, had paused, and was staring directly toward them. It continued tostare, up to the moment when the handshaking took place. But then--eyesturned and met other eyes. Hearts beat fast, lips trembled, feet moved. Unquestionably something had happened to the people of North Estabrook. Do you know how sometimes the ice goes out of a river? From shore toshore it has been frozen, cold and hard. For many months it has grownsolid, deepening and thickening until it seems as if there could be nolife left beneath. Then, at last, comes sunshine and rain and warmth. The huge mass looks as impenetrable as ever, but all at once, someday--crack!--the first thin, dark line spreads across the surface. Then--_crack, crack!_--_crack, crack!_--in every direction the ice isbreaking up. Look quickly, now, if you would see that frozen surfacestretching seamless between shore and shore--for suddenly dark lanes ofwater open up, which widen while you watch--and soon, incredibly soon, the river has burst its bonds and is rushing freely once more betweenits banks, with only the ever-diminishing blocks of melting ice upon itssurface to tell the story of its long imprisonment. Even so, on that memorable Christmas night, did the ice in the NorthEstabrook church break up. _Crack!_--George Tomlinson and Asa Fraser, old friends but sworn foes, had shaken hands. _Crack!_ Mrs. Tomlinsonand Mrs. Fraser, tears running frankly down their cheeks, had followedthe example of their husbands--and glad enough to do it, for their homeslay side by side, and each had had a hard time of it getting alongwithout the other. Miss Jane Pollock, seeing Mrs. Maria Hill's fruitlesssearch for her handkerchief, had long since drawn out one of herown--she always carried two--and had held it in her hand, ready to offerit, if she could just get to the point. But when she saw, upon thepulpit platform, those two gripping hands, somehow she suddenly reachedthe point. _Crack!_ --With no difficulty whatever Miss Pollock slippedthe handkerchief into Mrs. Hill's hand, whispering commiseratingly:"I presume you've got one somewhere, Maria, but you just can't lay yourhand on it. Don't take the trouble to return it--it isn't of any value. " And Mrs. Hill, accepting the handkerchief, wiped away the unmanageabletears, and turning round answered fervently; "I guess I _will_ returnit, Jane, if it's only so's to come to your house again--if you'll letme in, after all I've said. " Even as they smiled, shamefacedly but happily, at each other, similarscenes were being enacted. All about them spread the breaking ice. Incredible, that it should happen in a night? Not so. The forces ofNature are mighty, but they are as weakness beside the spiritual forcesof Nature's God. XI "Well, Billy Sewall, have you taken your young friend home and put himto bed?" The questioner was Ralph Fernald, sitting with the rest of thefamily--or those members of it who were not still attending to the wantsof little children--before the fireplace, talking things over. They hadbeen there for nearly an hour, since the service, but Sewall had onlyjust come in. "I've taken him home, " Sewall replied. "But there was no putting him tobed. I think he'll sit up till morning--too happy to sleep, the fine oldman. " They had saved the big armchair for him, in the very centre of thecircle, but he would have none of it. He went over to a corner of theinglenook, and dropped upon the floor at his sister Margaret's feet, with his arm upon her knee. When somebody protested Guy interfered inhis defence. "Let him alone, " said he. "He gets enough of prominent positions. If he wants to sit on the fence and kick his heels a while, let him. He's certainly earned the right to do as he pleases to-night. ByGeorge!--talk about magnificent team-work! If ever I saw a sacrificeplay I saw it to-night. " Sewall shook his head. "You may have seen team-work, " said he, "thoughMr. Blake was the most of the team. But there was no sacrifice play onmy part. It was simply a matter of passing the ball to the man who couldrun. I should have been down in four yards--if I ever got away at all. " John Fernald looked at his wife with a puzzled smile. "What sort o' talkis that?" he queried. Then he went on: "I suppose you boys are givingthe credit to Elder Blake--who ought to have it. But I give a good dealto William Sewall, whose eyes were sharp enough to see what we've beentoo blind to find out--that the old man was the one who could deal withus and make us see light on our quarrel. He did make us see it! HereI've been standing off, pluming myself on being too wise to mix up inthe fuss, when I ought to have been doing my best to bring folkstogether. What a difference it does make, the way you see a thing!" He looked round upon the group, scanning one stirred face after anotheras the ruddy firelight illumined them. His glance finally rested on hisdaughter Nan. She too sat upon the floor, on a plump red cushion, withher back against her husband's knee. Somehow Nan and Sam were never farapart, at times like these. The youngest of the house of Fernald hadmade perhaps the happiest marriage of them all, and the knowledge ofthis gave her father and mother great satisfaction. The sight of thepair, returning his scrutiny, with bright faces, gave John Fernald hisnext comment. "After the preachers, I guess Nancy and Samuel deserve about the mostcredit, " he went on. "It was the little girl's idea, and Sam stood byher, right through. " He began to chuckle. "I can see Sam now, towingthose two old fellows up to the pulpit. I don't believe they'd ever havegot there without him. There certainly is a time when a man's hand onyour arm makes it a good deal easier to go where you know you ought togo. " "It would have taken more than my hand to tow them away, " said SamBurnett, "after they found out how it felt to be friends again. Nobodycould come between them now, with an axe. " "The music helped, " cried Nan, "the music helped more than anything, except the sermon. Think how Margaret worked over that!--and Carolynover that crazy little old organ! And Guy and Ed and Charles hung allthose greens----" "I tacked the pulpit stair-carpet, " put in Oliver, gravely. "Whileyou're assigning credit, don't forget that. " "I stoked those stoves, " asserted Ralph. "That left-handone--Christopher! --I never saw a stove like that to hand out smokein your face. But the church was warm when I got through with 'em. " "You all did wonderfully well, " came Mother Fernald's proud and happydeclaration. "All but me, " said a voice, from the centre of the group. It was a voicewhich nobody had ever expected to hear in an acknowledgment of failureof any sort whatsoever, and all ears listened in amazement. "I did nothing but discourage everybody, " went on the voice, not quiteevenly. "I believe I'm apt to do that, though I never realized itbefore. But when that wonderful old man was speaking it came to me, quite suddenly, that the reason my husband's family don't like mebetter--is--because--it is my nature always to see the objections to athing, and to discourage people about it, if I can. I--want to tell youall that--I'm going to try to help, not hinder, from now on. " There was never a deeper sincerity than breathed in these astonishingwords from Marian, Oliver's wife. Astonishing, because they allunderstood, knowing her as they did--Oliver was oldest, and had beenfirst to marry--what a tremendous effort the little speech had cost her, a proud woman of the world, who had never seemed to care whether herhusband's family loved her or not, so that they deferred to her. For a moment they were all too surprised and touched--for there isnothing more touching than humility, where it is least expected--tospeak. Then Ralph, who sat next Marian, brought his fist down on hisknee with a thud. "Bully for you!" said he. Upon Marian's other side her husband's mother slipped a warm, delicatehand into hers. Nan, leaning past Sam's knee, reached up and patted hersister-in-law's lap. Everybody else smiled, in his or her most friendlyway, at Oliver's wife; and Oliver himself, though he said nothing, andmerely continued to stare fixedly into the fire, looked as if he wouldbe willing to tack pulpit stair-carpets for a living, if it would helpto bring about such results as these. "Marian's right in calling him a 'wonderful old man. '" Guy spokethoughtfully. "He got us all--Fernalds as well as Tomlinsons andFrasers. He hit me, square between the eyes, good and hard--but I'mglad he did, " he owned, with characteristic frankness. They all sat gazing into the fire in silence, for a little, after that, in the musing way of those who have much to think about. And by and byFather Fernald pulled out his watch and scanned it by the waveringlight. "Bless my soul!" he cried. "It's close on to twelve o'clock! Youchildren ought to be in bed--oughtn't they, Mother?" There was a murmur of laughter round the group, for John Fernald waslooking at his wife over his spectacles in just the quizzical way hissons and daughters well remembered. "I suppose they ought, John, " she responded, smiling at him. "But youmight let them sit up a little longer--just this once. " He looked them over once more--it was the hundredth time his eyes hadgone round the circle that night. It was a goodly array of manhood andwomanhood for a father to look at and call his own--even William Sewall, the brother of his son's wife, seemed to belong to him to-night. Theygave him back his proud and tender glance, every one of them, and hisheart was very full. As for their mother--but her eyes had gone down. "Well, " he said, leaning over to clasp her hand in his own, as she satnext him, "I guess maybe, just this once, it won't do any harm to let'em stay up a little late, They're getting pretty big, now. .. . And it'sChristmas Night. " [Music: Piano or choral arrangement of "Silent Night"] THE END [Illustration: Publisher's Logo] THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS GARDEN CITY, N. Y. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Errata: having asked solicitously _text reads "solicitiously"_but in the evening--He could come up _so in original: error for "he"?_You don't mean to say Sewall's coming up for this service? _text reads "Sewell's"_Miss Jane Pollock, ensconced behind the thick "lace curtains" _text reads "ensconsed"_"It's close on to twelve o'clock! You _text has extra quotation mark before "You"_