first, but doing wonderfully well considering they were not song birds.
"She's been training them for weeks," Uncle Bob whispered.

After this came "Stille Nacht," and Uncle Bob joined in, and then the
Candy Man, and presently the entrance of Dr. Prue was proclaimed by a
vigorous alto. The effect was most gratifying to the performers, and
from the piano Margaret Elizabeth murmured, "Very good."

When the singing was over she took her seat on a low ottoman in the
midst of the children, who drew closer. "Next," she said, patting the
hand Virginia slipped within her arm, "comes the story, which on
Christmas Eve everybody should either hear or read for himself."

Stillness fell on the Little Red Chimney room, the pigeons listened in
breathless absorption, while, forgetting herself and her audience, her
hands loosely clasped on her knees, Margaret Elizabeth began the story
which, as often as it may be told, yet throbs with tenderness and
wonder. As she went on her eyes grew dark and deep, and in her face
shone something more than the sweetness and charm hitherto so endearing.
Was it a prophecy? A glimpse into the unsounded heart of her?

Dr. Prue shaded her eyes with her hand; Uncle Bob wiped his glasses; the
Candy Man's soul was stirred within him, but he gave no sign.

"And they brought gifts, gold, frankincense and myrrh, to the little
Child in the manger; so now in keeping his birthday, we give each other
gifts and are happy because of the wonderful night so long ago," ended
Margaret Elizabeth.

After that it was no longer still in the Little Red Chimney room. Uncle