From the Improvement Era, December 1925 –

Christmas Comes to Waring Hill

By Mary Hale Woolsey

Seldom did anyone pass by the old Waring place on the hill above Mill City without pausing for a second long look. To the practical mind, there was an interesting contrast between Waring Hill and the smoky, dirty factory town below; but those inclined to sentiment found in the fine old estate a sort of concrete representation of their own ideals. Dignity, gentility, wealth, tradition – those things which ambitious fathers and mothers hope to achieve and to pass on to their posterity, seemed a part of the very atmosphere of Waring Hill.

These December days, when there were holly-wreaths in the windows and evergreen branches twined above the massive white door; when nights brought glimpses of lighted candles and the flickering, rosy glow of pine-log fires – then one would picture a long row of expectant stockings swinging before the fireplace; a tree glittering with tinsel and colored lights and laden with gifts; and the children, and children’s children, flocking “home” to the ancestral roof for a happy holiday.

All of which was far from the truth. The holly wreaths were there, and the evergreen, and the candles – because old Myra Kelley, the Waring housekeeper, wanted them there; and because lonely Elizabeth Waring was indifferently willing for Myra to have her way. But all Myra’s Christmas enthusiasm could find no justification for a tree; and as for stockings – not for years had there been even one hanging there to invite a rotund Santa Claus down the great brick chimney. For Elizabeth was “the last of the Warings”; and, save for a few servants lived quite alone in the house whose very walls seemed to plead for voices and laughter; whose gleaming floors seemed meant for the happy patter of skipping, dancing feet.

Amid a stillness broken only by the ticking of the grandfather clock on the stairs and the crackling of the fire, Elizabeth sat at her orderly desk in the orderly living room, writing checks. One by one, these were put into neatly addressed envelopes, which were then sealed and laid aside. At last the task was completed, and with a sigh she rose and closed the desk.

Myra Kelley, dressed in a dull gray suit and hat which emphasized the extreme plainness of the wearer, waited at the hall door.

“I’m ready, Miss Liz’beth,” she announced tonelessly.

“Very well. Here are the checks.” Elizabeth’s voice was low, soft, had in it a subtle something that betrayed the aristocrat. “If you wish to shop, you may take as much time as you wish, Myra.”

“Thank you, Miss. You’re very kind.”

From a window, the mistress of Waring Hill stood watching Myra’s course until she had almost disappeared into the cloud of smoke that hung low over Mill City; then turned slowly and settled herself in a big chair of blue brocade near the fireplace.

Sitting there motionless, her hands clasped in her lap, she looked like a lovely old portrait painted by a master hand. The soft firelight set agleam the jeweled comb that adorned her high-piled golden hair; revealed every fine contour of her face, but left undisclosed the lines of severity and sadness which in a stronger light would have marred somewhat her beauty. Her silk dress, with its collar of creamy lace, and dainty hose and slippers, all helped to complete the picture.

Her reverie was broken by the arrival of Dr. Thaddeus Carr, who brought in with him a quantity of crisp winter air and a goodly fund of cheer. As one who feels much at home, he threw his overcoat across the balustrade and came over to the fireplace.

“All fixed up for Christmas, I see,” he remarked jovially.

“Myra’s doings.” Elizabeth’s lips curved in a cynical half-smile. “I gave it up long ago.”

“Gave up – what?”

“Caring. Making believe. Trying to manufacture a Merry Christmas out of holly leaves and candle-light.”

“Elizabeth!”

“Well?” defensively. “That’s all it is, Doctor Carr. Christmas – real Christmas – doesn’t come any more to Waring Hill.”

“No?” he said slowly. “Why, Elizabeth?” And as she shook her head he added with gentle insistence. “There must be a reason, you know.”

“I suppose so – but I don’t know it, Doctor. Sometimes I think it’s being alone; yet Myra is alone, too – and she loves Christmas. And you are alone – of course, you have your work, which leaves you no time for loneliness.”

“While you have –?” he suggested.

In sudden restlessness he rose, walked to and fro, from chair to table, to window, as she answered:

“I have this empty house; more money than I can use; an honored name; good health – oh, I can still county my many blessings; but they don’t include happiness.

“I feel it most at this season, because Christmas seems the time most completely meant for happiness. to me, it is – mockery!

“Down there –” she was standing at the window, and her gesture indicated the town at the foot of the hill – “down there, Christmas comes unfailingly. The soot and smoke and grime, and ugly dirt and poverty, all combined, don’t keep it away. They give, and receive; laugh, and dance; they are rich. While I, up here in my big, clean house, up here where the honest golden sunshine reaches me, having plenty of everything – that is, everything that they haven’t! – I am poor.

“Myra thinks it’s the giving – the doing for others. There’s something else. I’ve given. I always give – the way that seems best. Not gifts that one wraps in holly paper and ties with red ribbon – thought I used to do that, too; and it didn’t help me. The checks always proved so welcome, it seemed the best way for me to give.

“And that’s Christmas to me, Doctor Carr.” She flung herself into her chair. “A bunch of checks to send out – and the ‘trimmings’ that Myra insists upon.”

Throughout her long speech the doctor had stood with his back to the fire, his hands clasping and unclasping in its pleasant warmth. Now he looked down tenderly upon her beautiful bowed head.

“Then, if giving has failed, Elizabeth – why not try – forgiving?” He spoke very low, but earnestly.

Her eyes met his for an instant with an unspoken question.

“I mean – Tessie.” Deliberately, emphatically, he spoke the name that had long been forbidden on Waring Hill.

Again that swift, upward glance. And then she was silent so long that he feared she meant not to answer at all. But at last her reply came, hardly louder than a whisper:

“I can’t. Even if I could, I don’t see how it would help.”

“How can you fail to see?” he burst out; then checked himself and continued more quietly. “What have you against her, Elizabeth? And against her husband? I never knew a finer, cleaner, steadier –”

“He is a Holland,” coldly. “The Warings have had no use for the Hollands since Frederick Holland – ”

“Since the days of your great-grandfathers, eh?” he interrupted. “Elizabeth, don’t you see that you are letting an old, old grudge sour your whole life? Wouldn’t it be finer, nobler, to overthrow the old order and open your heart and home to Tessie and Fred?”

“You ask the impossible, Doctor Carr. You forget that I am a Waring, and proud to be one. And the Warings never forget, never forgive. Tessie – why, she broke my father’s heart when she married Fred, Doctor. I should be disloyal to him if I should forget that. No, no Holland ever shall be welcome at Waring Hill. Oh! I – I think father would rise up in his grave if that should happen.”

Her eyes were raised, as were the Doctor’s to the portrait which hung above the mantel. To look at this picture of Alexander Waring was to understand the stern, proud aristocracy that was in Elizabeth. It was to think of courtly ceremonies, treasured heirlooms, boasted pedigrees. “Divine rights.”

“Pardon me, Elizabeth,” Thaddeus Carr said slowly. “I forgot how your father’s spirit still lives – in you.”

She was silent; her eyes were bent on the flaming logs, and although the Doctor had gone to the hall, she did not look up.

He pulled on his coat; then, hat in hand, came close to her again.

“I am sorry for my outburst, Elizabeth. But I was thinking of your own happiness. You say that Christmas does not come to you. I say that it will come to you when you, when your heart, is ready for it to enter.

“Long ago, Elizabeth, when the Savior was born in Bethlehem, above the hills of old Judea, the angels sang a song that is the secret of Christmas, as well as it was their joyful announcement of his birth. When you have in your heart, ‘Glory to God in the highest, and peace on earth and good will toward men,’ then Christmas will come to you. And it can not come until then.”

It was as if he said a prayer for her, and without further word or leave-taking, he turned to go. As the heavy door closed behind him, he heard a stifled sob. It found an echo in his own heart. How he wished that he could rouse Elizabeth, drive her from her stronghold of stubborn, foolish pride, into the sunny valley of charity and love!

After he had left her, she sat for a long time motionless, except for the sobs which she could not quite restrain. She was not thinking of the words which the doctor had spoken; not for those were the tears which Elizabeth Waring could shed, but for Thaddeus Carr himself.

Long years ago, when Elizabeth was twenty and her father called her “the fairest blossom on the Waring tree”; when Thaddeus was merely the ambitious son of a factory worker – then had a mocking fate brought these two together, and one day the rash youth made bold to tell Elizabeth that he loved her.

She flamed in indignation. How dare he, a common laborer’s son, have the effrontery to speak of love to a Waring, who was of the elite of the earth?

And Thaddeus, though smarting under the lash of her words, answered calmly, “Well, of course, if that’s the way you feel about it –” put on his cap, stuffed his hands into his pockets, and walked away whistling a jaunty air. Left her quivering with wounded pride – to learn through days and weeks and years of heartache, just how willful, however lasting, how torturous love may be.

But because she was a Waring – because she, like her father, set their family name in a shrine and worshiped it faithfully – she laid on her sacrificial altar her one great love.

And secretly, kept on loving Thaddeus Carr. In time her love came to be as a light, far off, which lighted her way, though that way must lead in another direction; a thing which was her most prized possession but must be cast away from her.

Thaddeus left Mill City, worked his way to an M.D. and a place of high honor in his profession, and came back to his home town to care for his aged parents, with a name which even Alexander Waring spoke with respect. And Elizabeth permitted herself to build rosy air-castles – only to see them fade into nothingness when Dr. Carr showed no remembrance of Waring Hill nor of his early love. When called to attend Mrs. Waring in her long illness, he became the family physician and friend – but nothing more.

The years passed on and on. They took with them the gentle Waring wife and mother; without her the old home became a veritable palace of gloom, through which there moved a single radiant sunbeam: the petted, praised, humored, but lovable and sweet Tessie Waring, Elizabeth’s twelve-years-younger, merry-hearted sister.

Came a day when Tessie Waring and Fred Holland, of the hated “across the valley”Hollands, came hand in hand into the August presence of Tessie’s father; declared their love for each other and asked his permission to marry. And listened with upflung heads and unflinching eyes, to his scathing reply:

“You two marry? – a Warring marry a descendant, a namesake, of Frederick Holland? No! A thousand times, no! Rather should a daughter of mine be in her grave, than married to you! Get out of my house, before you defile it! Tessie, go to your room!”

They obeyed him – for the last time. That night the girl stole away to her lover; and when the next morning came, Tessie Waring Holland was the new mistress of Holland House. While over on the Hill, Elizabeth Waring struggled against her grief and promised obedience to her father’s tempestuous commands:

“Never, never let me see her again, I tell you! She is no longer my daughter! Do you hear me? – I want never to hear her name again! Nevermore let it be spoken on Waring Hill!”

Over and over, Elizabeth promised. And to make it easier to keep that promise, hardened her own heart against the little sister who had been her greatest joy. She adored her father too blindly to see that his sorrow was less at the loss of a daughter than that a command of his has been disobeyed.

Misfortune came to the young Hollands. Investments failed. Debts piled up. At last Fred and Tessie sold the old House and set out for new fields where opportunities beckoned. The House was made into apartments, the estate covered with cheap cottages; and Alexander Waring seemed really pleased that a curse had overtaken his ancient enemies. Elizabeth tried to follow his example: but once, wondering if Tessie might be in actual need, she sent her a check. it was promptly returned, and relievedly destroyed; after which, to atone for what she felt had been secret disloyalty to her father, Elizabeth devoted herself more completely than ever to the task of carrying out his wishes and comforting his declining days.

So old Alexander never heard Tessie’s name again. On Waring Hill it was as if she had never existed. In time, Elizabeth lost all trace of her, and the silence, the dullness, which came with her absence, seemed to have been always a part of the old house.

The time came when Alexander answered the call of the Gray Angel. And Elizabeth was left alone, the last of the Warings. Alone, with her proud name, her wealth, and her sorrowful memories. Alone, carrying out the commands her father had given her. Hating her loneliness as the months grew into years, and she wondered what purpose there could be in living.

Doctor Carr continued to call frequently, as became an old family friend; and Elizabeth found herself receiving him with a casual welcome, thankful for his friendship while her whole heart longed for his love.

Steadily, steadily the sands shifted through the hour-glass of time. Eighteen years had passed since young Thaddeus Carr had made avowal of his love an learned how it was scorned. Eight years since lovable, defiant Tessie had cast her lot with love and Fred Holland. Three years since Alexander Waring passed away. Elizabeth was thirty-eight – and here she sat beside her fire, silently weeping at the emptiness of her existence.

At last she roused herself and went from te room without her usual farewell glance at her father’s portrait – as if she were ashamed to face it after having given away to her emotion, which did not become a Waring.

Myra returned from town, her homely face alight with holiday cheer. Myra’s personal appearance and her position in life were in marked contrast with Elizabeth’s; but Myra would not have traded places with the other though Waring Hill had been half the earth.

Some thought of this, no doubt, was in Elizabeth’s mind that evening when she suddenly said, in a tone of mingled weariness, curiosity and mockery –

“Tell me, Myra – what is your secret of happiness?”

Myra stared in amazement. The question was the last one in the world which she would have expected.

Elizabeth repeated it, adding, “You must have one. Think. Compare yourself with me: what you have, with what I have. You’re happy; I’m not; why?”

After a moment, Myra began to speak slowly, as if she were thinking aloud:

“I see what you mean. You’ve had a fine home – wonderful parents, friends, money. You’ve education, you’re most too beautiful to seem real. Yet you’re unhappy. I had a drunkard for a father, a mother nobody could boast of; never went to school; was called the homeliest girl in three counties and deserved it. I’ve known poverty, and neglect, and disappointment and sorrow a-plenty. Yet somehow, I’ve come through happy. I’ve had two husbands, been happy with both of ’em, and I think I made ’em both happy. I don’t know any secret about it, though – unless it’s just that I wouldn’t stay unhappy.

“I s’pect that’s it, Miss Liz’beth. I wouldn’t stay unhappy. Being unhappy, I s’pect, is just hanging onto the things that make you so – especially the things you could just as well drop. I dropped ‘em – forgot ‘em as soon’s I could. That’s all I could say, I guess, Miss.”

“I – I think you have answered my question, Myra – admirably, too.” Elizabeth forced a calm, smiling answer. But her mind was in turmoil. Myra hd said, “Being unhappy is hanging onto the things that make you so – especially those you could just as well drop.” Doctor Carr had said, ‘you are letting an old, old grudge sour your life.” Hadn’t they both said the same thing, in their different ways?

Elizabeth went to bed; lay therein the darkness, pondering over and over the old question – which seemed to lead her in a hopeless circle, always coming back to this: she must not think of Tessie; she had promised her father – his commands to remember and obey.

She fell asleep at last, wearily.

Doctor Carr’s neat black coupe slowed and stopped at the Waring gate. For a few moments the Doctor sat motionless, leaning over the wheel, while he gazed speculatively at the white door at the other end of the long brick path. Then he glanced down at the child who shared the seat with him – a dimpled, rose-leafed cherub who smiled up at him through eyes as blue as the soft woolen cap and cape which she wore. Beneath the cap tumbled a mass of golden curls; out from the cape, at various angles, peeped soft pink hands and a pair of diminutive, patent-leather-clad feet which wriggled continuously. The doctor caught her up into his arms, smiling ingratiatingly.

‘Now, then – who is it that’s going to get a big pretty dolly from me?”

A soft gurgling laugh preceded her answer. “I know, Dokker. My name is Adelina Marianna Mayer, isn’t it?

“And no little girl gets a dolly from me if she forgets that her name is Adelina Marianna Mayer, does she?”

“Huh, u-u-uh!” the curls shook decisively.

“Don’t forget, Lovely!” he warned, and swung with her out of the car.

Myra opened the door for them. The Doctor met her surprised look with an admonishing gesture, and carried Adelina Marianna into the astonished presence of Elizabeth Waring.

“I – I’ve brought you a caller, Elizabeth,” he began. “A guest of mine for a few days.” He seemed suddenly embarrassed.”Would you mind keeping her with you this afternoon? – Becky Billings had to go over to Westborough, so there’s no one at home. I – I’m going out into the country and can’t well take her –”

“Why, certainly I’ll keep her,” Elizabeth answered warmly. “What a beautiful child she is!” Mentally she was adding. How embarrassing he finds it to ask a simple little favor of me!

The doctor smiled down into the upturned baby face. “Be good, Lovely. Stay with the lady until I come for you. Can you tell her your name?”

A beaming smile chased away the look of shy solemnity, and the little tongue was loosened.

“I know, don’t I? My name is Adelina Marianna Mayer, and Dokker is going to bwing me a pwitty dolly!”

Impetuously Elizabeth lifted the child to her lap. “Mercy me!” she laughed. “Do they call you all that?”

The doctor started somewhat as Adelina Marianna answered confidentially.

“Oh, no. My mama calls me ‘Sunshine,’ and my daddy calls me ‘Tweasure.’ And you can call me ‘Lovely,’ like Dokker does. Please, I want my fings tooken off.”

Amid the amused laughter, Doctor Carr took his leave, with a contemplative backward glance at the completely absorbed Elizabeth, whose slender fingers were busy with unfamiliar buttons and fastenings.

So began a merry afternoon, “Lovely,” sweetly tyrannical as soon as her shyness had been overcome, made Elizabeth her willing slave in no time at all. From an upstairs closet Myra brought a basket containing some long-forgotten dolls and toys over which the little guest squealed with delight. Elizabeth forgot dignity and her thirty-eight years, and entered whole-heartedly into the spirit of play. Until suddenly, pausing in surprise at the sound of her own laughter, she saw that the room was filled with a roseate sunset glow, which presently faded into the gray of early twilight. Where had the hours gone?

The shadows deepened.

“I’m tired,” announced “lovely.” “Hold me, lady.”

Elizabeth leaned back in her blue chair; Adelina Marianna snuggled down cozily in her lap. Something within the woman’s heart stirred strangely as the curly head rested against her breast. Vague dreams – wonderings –

“Sing to me, lady. Like my mama does.”

Elizabeth stared blankly. sing! – what?

“P’ease sing, lady. Can’t you sing?”

“I – I don’t know” – stammered the “lady.”

“Lovely” sat upright. “Don’t you?” incredulously. “Don’t you know ‘Sweet and Low, Wind of a Western Sea’? Why, my mama could sing it to me. I want my mama –” her lips began to tremble.

“Oh, Lovely – girl, perhaps I can sing it!” Elizabeth cried. “My mother used to sing that, too!”

The child smiled again as Elizabeth began the old favorite lullaby, a thousand memories rising up as she sang. The words came haltingly, her voice was unsteady; but she went on to the end. Then there was no time for the tears she felt imminent, for her small guest slid to the floor with,

“I’m hungwy. P’ease, I want someping to eat, and some milk to dwink. And nen I’m s’eepy. Can I s’eep in your house, lady?”

An hour later Elizabeth sat beside a long-unused crib in the Waring nursery (which Myra had made ready while her mistress was overseeing “Lovely’s” supper) looking down at the slumbering child while her heart throbbed with those memories which had come flocking across the span of years, at the call of her mother’s evening song.

Presently she shook off the spell and rose to go downstairs. Took a last, long look at the golden head against the pillow. Adelina Marianna! What a name to be foisted upon a child! She formed a swift mental picture of “Lovely’s” probable mother: a novel-reading, gum-chewing, kimona-wearing – the picture went away. It didn’t fit a mother who sang Tennyson to her babies!

The abandoned toys were still lying on the floor. She began to pick them up. What was this in the bottom of the basket? A scrap-book! Her fingers clutched it convulsively, turned the pages.

She had begun it for Tessie. When Tessie was four – a little older than this Adelina Marianna. When clumsy fat fingers had been so eager to handle scissors and paste, and patient sisterly ones sought to teach and guide. The first pictures were roughly cut; gradually the outlines improved. Then here were the pages which Tessie had done by herself one day when big sister was absent. What a mess! Too much paste, every conceivable angle, pictures overlapping each other. and they had skipped a few pages and made a new start. The pages that followed it were so much better than any of those before. A new start!

When Doctor Carr finally came, Elizabeth was sitting in her usual place beside the fire. There were traces of tears on her cheeks. she looked tired and worn. but her first words were an eager plea that Adelina Marianna should remain at Waring Hill overnight.

“She’s sound asleep; it would be a pity to disturb her.”

He hesitated. “Well –”

“Really, I – I wish she didn’t have to go, ever,” she choked, struggling for self-control. “Tell me about her, Doctor Carr. I mean, about her people. Are they – poor?”

A strange expression crossed is face. “Well, yes – rather. They weren’t, though, until recently. The father had a good position until a year ago. Then he suffered a serious breakdown; was in a hospital a long time. Then he went to work too soon, overdid, and landed in the hospital again. All in all, they’re pretty hard hit. There are two other children; a boy, seven – fine little chap; and a ten months old baby girl. The mother is almost ill herself with the worry and the extra work, so I persuaded her to let me keep ‘Lovely’ a while.”

“Oh, Doctor! Couldn’t I help, too? There’d be something I could do – surely I – ”

Again the queer expression on the Doctor’s face. he rose, stood stroking the back of the easy chair.

“I – I’m afraid you wouldn’t care to, Elizabeth. You see, I – ”

“Why, Doctor! I’d love to! I’d do anything for that darling child! I simply fell in love with her! I – I’d like to know her mother –” she stopped abruptly. Why was Doctor Carr looking at her so queerly?

“Would you?” he said huskily. “You – you do – or did. ‘Lovely’ is – er – a relative of yours.”

She sprang to her feet.

“I took an unfair advantage, Elizabeth. But I wanted you to see her. I meant to tell you sometime. Tessie doesn’t know I brought her – ”

“You mean – that this baby is – is –”

“Your sister’s daughter, Elizabeth – doesn’t your heart ever tell you anything?”

She had sunk back into her chair.

“Tessie’s baby!” she whispered. “I never knew she had one – and there are three – oh! why didn’t someone tell me?”

“You said you didn’t want to hear,” came the Doctor’s gentle reminder.

“Yes– I know – I had to, because I promised father! But I did want to hear of her – to see her – but it was father’s command – what shall I do?” in a panic he looked up at the portrait, as if almost fearful of its wrath.

A joyful light broke over Dr. Carr’s face.

“So that’s the way of it!” He took her hand gently. “Elizabeth, didn’t you ever stop to think about obeying the greatest Commander of all?”

She looked up, startled.

“Yes,” he went on, “the One who said, ‘Love one another.’ Isn’t it time you should acknowledge a little glory to someone besides the Warings?”

Slowly she grasped the full meaning of his words. Why – she had been not even a Christian!

“Oh! What have I been doing? I never once thought – and father knows now –” her eyes sought the picture again. “Over There, he has learned that, too. Oh, I want them – I’ll make it up to them! But will they let me – Fred and Tessie? After all this, will they – how can they – forgive me?”

“They’ve never held anything against you, Elizabeth. I think they understood.”

“How can I believe that?” incredulously.

“Here’s how!” came his triumphant answer. “This little girl upstairs – I bribed her to tell you her name was Adelina Marianna – don’t you see? Her name is Elizabeth Waring Holland. Isn’t that proof?”

“Thad!” she forgot the formal title, slipped back to the old name of the long-ago. “Myra, Myra – come here! Tell her, Thad!”

And then she put her head down onto Myra Kelley’s rugged breast, and sobbed out the bitterness and grief and heartache which she had held back for so many years.

At last she lifted her face, shining with glad resolution.

“Thad, take me to them – now! I can’ wait – you will take me, won’t you? And help me to bring them here – home! – for Christmas!”

So Waring Hill came into its own once more. Happy voices through the festive rooms. Busy feet, dancing feet, over the gleaming floors. Passers-by glimpsed it, and went on their way quite certain that Waring Hill was the very counterpart of all their dreams. Dignity, gentility, wealth, beauty, tradition, happiness – all were there.

There was no sadness in Elizabeth Waring’s heart that Christmas Eve. There were too many happy things to do. Things to be wrapped in holly paper and tied with red ribbon. Stockings to be hung by the fireplace. A tree to be decorated – how the moments flew! The old grandfather clock must be running away with itself!

Dr. Carr “dropped in,” and looked so longingly at the various activities that before Elizabeth knew what she was doing, she had invited him to “take a hand.” He accepted joyfully.

Late in the evening the two found themselves alone, working at the tree. Then it was that the doctor turned to “the last of the Warings,” and said:

“And Christmas is really coming back to Waring Hill, isn’t it?

“Yes, she answered radiantly, “just as you said. You – you taught me the secret, Thaddeus.”

His next words were irrelevant. “Elizabeth, you grow more beautiful all the time. You are even more beautiful than you were long ago, when we –”

Her heart leaped. ‘I – I thought you’d forgotten all that,” she said, a trifle wildly.

“No – not forgotten. – Just laid away – because I couldn’t change facts. I’ve always loved you – but I’m only – a working man’s son.”

“Don’t! she cried. “I’ve been such a fool.”

It was his turn to silence her.

“Anyway, that’s all changed now,” he said. I wonder, Elizabeth, would it be too late?”

“No – no – not too late, Thad,” she whispered – and slipped into his arms.

A little later, she turned from him, listening.

“The carolers!” she exclaimed.

“Bringing Christmas to Waring Hill,” he added.

Someone flung the door wide. And clear and sweet through the frosty air came the voices of the Christmas singers, in heart-stirring melodies breathed across the snow.