The Romance of a Christmas Card by Kate Douglas Smith Wiggin
page 46 of 63 (73%)
page 46 of 63 (73%)
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"My door is on the latch to-night, The hearth-fire is aglow. I seem to hear swift passing feet, The Christ Child in the snow. "My heart is open wide to-night For stranger, kith, or kin; I would not bar a single door Where Love might enter in!" And then a footstep, drawing ever nearer, sounded crunch, crunch, in the snow. Letty pushed her chair back into the shadow. The footstep halted at the gate, came falteringly up the path, turned aside, and came nearer the window. Then a voice said: "Don't be frightened Letty, it's David! Can I come in? I haven't any right to, except that it's Christmas Eve." That, indeed, was the magic, the all-comprehending phrase that swept the past out of mind with one swift stroke: the acknowledgment of unworthiness, the child-like claim on the forgiving love that should be in every heart on such a night as this. Resentment melted away like mist before the sun. Her deep grievance--where had it gone? How could she speak anything but welcome? For what was the window open, the fire lighted, the door ajar, the guiding candle-flame, but that Love, and David, might enter in? There were few words at first; nothing but close-locked hands and wet cheeks pressed together. Then Letty sent David into the children's room by himself. If the twins were bewitching when awake, they were |
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