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