black than the garments which she wore. She hated the world; she hated the
people who lived in it. She hated Christmas time, when every one seemed
merry except herself. And yes, yes! Most of all she hated children. She
clenched her teeth wickedly; her mind reeled.

Suddenly, somewhere, a chorus of happy voices began to sing the words of an
old carol:--

"Holy night! Peaceful night!
All is dark save the light,
Yonder where they sweet vigil keep,
O'er the Babe who in silent sleep
Rests in heavenly peace."

Softly and sweetly the childish voices ascended from the street. The woman
in black stopped short, breathing hard. She saw the band of choristers
standing in a group on the sidewalk and in the snow, their hats pulled down
over their eyes, their collars turned up around their ears, their hands
deep in pockets. In their midst rose the tall wooden cross carried by a
little fellow with yellow hair. They sang as simply and as heartily as a
flock of birds out in the snow.

The woman gave a great sob. Her little lad had been a choir boy,--perhaps
these were his one-time comrades. The second verse of the carol rang out
sweetly:--

"Holy night! Peaceful night!
Only for shepherds' sight
Came blest visions of angel throngs,
With their loud Hallelujah songs,