"This is the place," he mused. "I know ut; here's where the frindly
lam'post hild me in its arrums. I rimimber there was a dark house forninst
me. Here's where ut lay on the sidewalk, all pink an' pretty. An' I kicked
ut into the street! Where is ut now? Where gone? Howly Mither! Here's the
spot where ut fell, look now! The shape of uts little body and the wings of
ut in the snow. But 'tis gone intirely!" He rubbed his eyes and crossed
himself again. "'Tis flown away," he muttered. "'Tis gone back to Hiven to
tell Mary Mither o' the wicked thing I done this night. Oh, 'tis a miracle
that's happened! An' oh! The wicked man I am, drunk and disorderly on the
Howly Eve!"

"O come, all ye faithful,
Joyful and triumphant!"

Once more he heard the familiar strain taken up lustily by many voices.

"Hear all the world singin' on the way to Bethlehem!" he said, and the
stupor seemed to leave his brain. He no longer staggered.

"I'll run an' join 'em, an' I won't drink another drop this night." He
looked up at the starry sky. "Maybe the Angel hears me. Maybe he'll help
me to keep straight to-morrow. It might be my Guardian Angel himsilf that I
treated so! Saints forgive me!"

With head bowed humbly, but no longer reeling, he moved away towards the
sound of music.

* * * * *

"You were his Guardian Angel," said Miss Terry, when once more she saw the