Joan," answered the old man; "I'd never say nay to anything as
is done out o' love. Maybe Rhoda 'ill be thinking of it, and please God
it 'ill do her good. I'll be up early i' th' morning and light the
lantern, and see thee safe across the fold and hearken to thee singing
the 'Heral' angels.'"

There was neither frost nor snow this Christmas. The weather had been as
soft and mild as autumn, and there were still some pale monthly roses
blooming against the southern walls of the farm-house. Old Nathan
lighted Joan across the causeway and put the lantern into her hand when
they reached the door of the outer cow-shed. As she stood alone on the
low threshold of the farther shed, and looked up to the black space
above her, where the bay of the barn opened into it on her left hand,
she felt a little terrified. The light from her dim lantern could not
reach the roof, but she could see the piled-up straw rising high above
her, and the utter blackness beyond it.

Her own white, melancholy-looking face was lit up by the rays from the
perforated top of the lantern, which swung from her hand as she lingered
on the door-sill gazing forward into the dark shed. The thought of old
Nathan not far away gave her some courage, and, after a timorous pause
of a minute or two, her young, clear, yet tremulous voice began to sing
the Christmas Hymn:--

Hark! the herald angels sing,
Glory to the new-born King;
Peace on earth and mercy mild,
God and sinners reconciled.

All the other verses seemed to slip suddenly out of Joan's memory. She
heard something stirring in the stall before her, the straw rustled
softly, and there was a faint, slight sound of a gentle breathing. With
her heart beating fast she stole forward on tiptoe to the manger, well
lined with hay, and lifted up the lantern. It was no longer empty: there
lay a child asleep, a little babe, wrapped in swaddling clothes and
cradled in the manger!

No doubt was there in Joan's little heart, no question as to who the
sleeping child could be. All the little learning she had gained died
away when she saw the child. She had come to seek the babe whose birth
the angels had sung over, and she had found him. Without speech or
motion, scarcely breathing for very joy, she stood gazing at it. The
little head and small face, the tiny hands, filled her soul with awe and
tenderness. Very timidly she touched the soft cheek with the tip of her
finger--the warm, soft cheek--and the baby