He fancied that
the dawn flushed warm to hear the story,--that the very earth
should rejoice in its frozen depths, if it were true. If it were
true!--if this passion in his heart were but a part of an
all-embracing power, in whose clear depths the world struggled
vainly!-- if it were true that this Christ did come to make that
love clear to us! There would be some meaning then in the old
school-master's joy, in the bells wakening the city yonder, in
even poor Lois's thorough content in this day,--for it would be,
he knew, a thrice happy day to her. A strange story that of the
Child coming into the world,--simple! He thought of it,
watching, through his cold, gray eyes, how all the fresh morning
told it,--it was in the very air; thinking how its echo stole
through the whole world,--how innumerable children's voices told
it in eager laughter,--how even the lowest slave half-smiled, on
waking, to think it was Christmas-day, the day that Christ was
born. He could hear from the church on the hill that they were
singing again the old song of the angels. Did this matter to
him? Did not he care, with the new throb in his heart, who was
born this day? There is no smile on his face as he listens to
the words, "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace,
good-will toward men;" it bends lower,--lower only. But in his
soul-lit eyes there are warm tears, and on his worn face a sad
and solemn joy.
CHAPTER XI.
I AM going to end my story now.
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