s,--they were those of the great
evergreen motto which overarched the chancel; but I think he never
forgot the beautiful meaning they seemed to bear as the angels sang them
over and over. It was so wondrous sweet that he could not feel
afraid,--he could only gaze and gaze, and hold his breath lest he should
lose a note.

And the song rang on, clear and triumphant, even as the white-robed
choir parted and floated like soft summer clouds to and fro in the
church, pausing ever and anon as in blessing. They touched the leaves of
the Christmas green as they passed; they hung over the organ and brushed
the keys with their wings; a long time they clustered above the benches
of the poor, as if to leave a fragrance in the air; and then they rested
before a tablet which had been put up but a few months before, and which
bore the name of the rector's eldest son, and the dates of his birth and
death. Roger had been told of this brave lad, and how he had lost his
life in plunging from his ship to save the drowning child of an
emigrant; and now the angel-song seemed sweeter than ever, as over and
again they chanted, "Good-will to men,--good-will to men."

At last one of the white-winged ones left the others, and hovered awhile
above the Squire's pew, near which our little boy was hidden. A
prayer-book lay open on the rail, and over this the fair angel bent as
in benediction. A girl had sat there once,--the Squire's only daughter.
Roger remembered her well, and the mourning of the whole parish when,
only a twelvemonth ago, the lovely child had been buried from their
sight; and now, as he timidly glanced into the glorious face above him,
it seemed to him to have the same look, only so ineffably beautiful that
he closed his dazzled eyes to shut out the vision and the light that
shone from the white wings,--only for a moment, then he opened them
again, as a gentle rustling filled the air, and he saw the bending
figure stoop, leave a kiss or a blessing on the pages of the open book,
and then glide away with the others. Again the group hovered above the
altar,--louder and clearer rose the triumphant strain, and, noiseless as
a cloud, the snowy train floated to the window. For one moment their
figures could be seen against the sky, then the song died away,--they
were gone, and Roger saw them no more.

And now the light of dawn began to creep into the windows, twittering
sounds showed the birds awakening outside, and a pink streak appeared