They were drawn back; but nothing could be seen, and still the old man
gazed as if in ecstasy.

"Light!" he murmured. "The Angel! the Star!"

Again there was silence; and then he stretched forth his hands, and
cried passionately,

"The Angel is beckoning to me! Mother! Mother dear! Please open the
window."

The sash was thrown open, and all eyes turned involuntarily where those
of the dying man were gazing. There was no Christmas tree--no tree at
all. But over the house-tops the morning star looked pure and pale in
the dawn of Christmas Day. For the night was past, and above the
distant hum of the streets the clear voices of some waits made the
words of an old carol heard--words dearer for their association than
their poetry:

"While shepherds watched their flocks by night,
All seated on the ground,
The Angel of the Lord came down,
And glory shone around."

When the window was opened, the soul passed; and when they looked back
to the bed the old man had lain down again, and, like a child, was
smiling in his sleep--his last sleep.

And this was the Third Christmas Tree.