The Christmas Angel | Page 7

so excited the wonder of Norah when once before that evening it
had come to light.
Miss Terry held it up and looked at it with the same expression on her

face, half tender, half contemptuous. "The Christmas Angel!" she
murmured involuntarily, as she had done before. And again there
flashed through her mind a vivid picture.
It was the day before Christmas, fifty years earlier. She and her brother
Tom were trimming the Christmas tree in this very library. She saw
Tom, in a white piqué suit with short socks that were always slipping
down his fat legs. She saw herself in a white dress and blue ribbons,
pouting in a corner. They had been quarreling about the Christmas tree,
disputing as to which of them should light the first candle when the
time arrived. Then their mother came to them smiling, a sweet-faced
lady who seemed not to notice the red faces and the tears. She put
something into Tom's hand saying, "This is the Christmas Angel of
peace and good-will. Hang it on the tree, children, so that it may shed a
blessing on all who come here to give and to receive."
How lovely and pink it looked in Tom's hand! Little Angelina had
thought it the most beautiful thing she had ever seen,--and holy, too, as
if it had some blessed charm. Fiddlestick! What queer fancies children
have! Miss Terry remembered how a strange thrill had crept through
Angelina as she gazed at it. Then she and Tom looked at each other and
were ashamed of their quarrel. Suddenly Tom held out the Angel to his
sister. "You hang it on the tree, Angelina," he said magnanimously. "I
know you want to."
But she--little fool!--she too had a fit of generosity.
"No, you hang it, Tom. You're taller," she said.
"I'll hang it at the very top of the tree!" he replied, nothing loath.
Eagerly he mounted the step-ladder, while Angelina watched him
enviously, thinking how clumsy he was, and how much better she
could do it.
How funny and fat Tom had looked on top of the ladder, reaching as
high as he dared! The ladder began to wobble, and he balanced
precariously, while Angelina clutched at his fat ankles with a scream of
fright. But Tom said:--

"Ow! Angelina, let go my ankles! You hurt! Now don't scream. I shan't
fall. Don't you know that this is the Christmas Angel, and he will never
let me get hurt on Christmas Eve?"
Swaying wildly on one toe Tom had clutched at the air, at the tree
itself,--anywhere for support. Yet, almost as if by a miracle, he did not
fall. And the Christmas Angel was looking down from the very top of
the tree.
Miss Terry laid the little pink figure in her lap and mused. "Mother was
wise!" she sighed. "She knew how to settle our quarrels in those days.
Perhaps if she had still been here things would have gone differently.
Tom might not have left me for good. _For good._" She emphasized
the words with a nod as if arguing against something.
Again she took up the Christmas Angel and looked earnestly at it.
Could it be that tears were glistening in her eyes? Certainly not! With a
sudden sniff and jerk of the shoulders she leaned forward, holding the
Angel towards the fire. This should follow the other useless toys. But
something seemed to stay her hand. She drew back, hesitated, then rose
to her feet.
"I can't burn it," she said. "It's no use, I can't burn it. But I don't want to
see the thing around. I will put this out on the sidewalk, too. Possibly
this may be different and do some good to somebody."
She wrapped the shawl about her shoulders and once more ran down
the steps. She left the Angel face upward in the middle of the sidewalk,
and retreated quickly to the house. As she opened the door to enter, she
caught the distant chorus of fresh young voices singing in a
neighboring square:--
"Angels from the realms of glory, Wing your flight o'er all the earth."
When she took her place behind the curtain she was trembling a little,
she could not guess why. But now she watched with renewed eagerness.
What was to be the fate of the Christmas Angel? Would he fall into the
right hands and be hung upon some Christmas tree ere morning?

Would he--
Miss Terry held her breath. A man was staggering along the street
toward her. He whistled noisily a vulgar song, as he reeled from curb to
railing, threatening to fall at every step. A drunken man on Christmas
Eve! Miss Terry felt a great loathing for him. He was at the foot of the
steps now.