as sent upstairs to fetch
my Bible; the circle closed in around the fire and me; a circle of
listening, waiting, eager, interested faces, some few of them shone
with pleasure, or grew grave with reverent love, while I read slowly
the chapters that tell of the first Christmas night. I read them from
all the gospels, picking the story out first in one, then in another;
answered sometimes by low words of praise that echoed but did not
interrupt me--words that were but some dropped notes of the song that
began that night in heaven, and has been running along the ages since,
and is swelling and will swell into a great chorus of earth and heaven
by and by. And how glad I was in the words of the story myself, as I
went along. How heart-glad that here, in this region of riches and
hopes not earthly, those around me had as good welcome, and as open
entrance, and as free right as I. "There is neither bond nor free."
"And base things of this world, and things which are despised, hath
God chosen, yea, and things which are not, to bring to nought things
that are."

I finished my reading at last, amid the hush of my listening audience.
Then Maria called upon Darry to pray, and we all kneeled down.

It comes back to me now as I write--the hush and the breathing of the
fire, and Darry's low voice and imperfect English. Yes, and the
incoming tide of rest and peace and gladness which began to fill the
dry places in my heart, and rose and swelled till my heart was full. I
lost my troubles and forgot my difficulties. I forgot that my father
and mother were away, for the sense of loneliness was gone. I forgot
that those around me were in bonds, for I felt them free as I, and
inheritors of the same kingdom. I have not often in my life listened
to such a prayer, unless from the same lips. He was one of those that
make you feel that the door is open to their knocking, and that they
always find it so. His words were seconded--not interrupted, even to
my feelings--by low-breathed echoes of praise and petition, too soft
and deep to leave any doubt of the movement that called them forth.

There was a quiet gravity upon all when we rose to our feet again. I
knew I must go; but the kitchen had been the pleasantest place to me
in all Magnolia. I bade them good-night, answered with bows and
curtseys and hearty wishes; and as I passed out of the circle, tall
black Pete, looking down upon me with just a glimmer of white between
his lips, added, "Hope