There was a long silence, in which Miss Terry felt new impulses stirring
within her; impulses drawing her to the child whose looks recalled her own
childhood. The Angel regarded her with beaming eyes. After some time he
said quietly, "Now let us see what became of your last experiment."

Miss Terry started. It seemed as if she had been interrupted in pleasant
dreaming. "_You_ were the last experiment," she said. "I know what became
of you. Here you are!"

"Yet more may have happened than you guessed," replied the Angel meaningly.
"I have tried to show you how often that is the case. Look again."

Without moving from her chair Miss Terry seemed to be looking out on her
sidewalk, where, so it seemed, she had just laid the pink figure of the
Angel. She saw the drunken man approach. She heard his coarse laugh; saw
his brutal movement as he kicked the Christmas token into the street. In
sick disgust she saw him reel away out of sight. She saw herself run down
the steps, rescue the image, and bring it into the house. Surely the story
was finished. What more could there be?

But something bade her vision follow the steps of the wretched man. Down
the street he reeled, singing a blasphemous song. With a whoop he rounded a
corner and ran into a happy party which filled sidewalk and street, as it
hurried in the direction from which he came. Good-naturedly they jostled
him against the wall, and he grasped a railing to steady himself as they
swept by. It was the choir on their way to carol in the next street. Before
them went the cross-bearer, lifting high his simple wooden emblem.

[Illustration: HE GRASPED A RAILING TO STEADY HIMSELF]