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.
He was close upon the Angel. Would he see it, or would he tread upon it in
his disgusting blindness?

Yes--no! He saw the little pink image lying on the bricks, and with a lurch
forward bent to examine it. Miss Terry flattened her nose against the pane
eagerly. She expected to see him fall upon the Angel bodily. But no; he
righted himself with a whoop of drunken mirth.

"Angel!" she heard him croak with maudlin accent. "Pink Angel, begorrah!
What doin' 'ere, eh? Whoop! Go back to sky, Angel!" and lifting a brutal