After playing the verse through once, he sang softly the refrain. After
the first verse, the men joined in the chorus; at first timidly, but
by the time the third verse was reached they were shouting with throats
full open, 'We shall meet on that beautiful shore.' When I looked at
Nelson the eager light had gone out of his eyes, and in its place was
kind of determined hopelessness, as if in this new music he had no part.

After the voices had ceased, Mr. Craig played again the refrain, more
and more softly and slowly; then laying the violin on Campbell's knees,
he drew from his pocket his little Bible, and said--

'Men, with Mr. Graeme's permission, I want to read you something this
Christmas Eve. You will all have heard it before, but you will like it
none the less for that.'

His voice was soft, but clear and penetrating, as he read the eternal
story of the angels and the shepherds and the Babe. And as he read, a
slight motion of the hand or a glance of an eye made us see, as he
was seeing, that whole radiant drama. The wonder, the timid joy,
the tenderness, the mystery of it all, were borne in upon us with
overpowering effect. He closed the book, and in the same low, clear
voice went on to tell us how, in his home years ago, he used to stand on
Christmas Eve listening in thrilling delight to his mother telling him
the story, and how she used to make him see the shepherds and hear the
sheep bleating near by, and how the sudden burst of glory used to make
his heart jump.

'I used to be a little afraid of the angels, because a boy told me they
were ghosts; but my mother told me better, and I didn't fear them any
more. And the Baby, the dear little Baby--we all love a baby.' There was