There followed a little silence, and I could hear my child sobbing. And the
tears stood in; my wife's eyes--tears of gladness to hear her daughter's
sobs.

"I will try, papa," Constance said at last. "But you _will_ help me?"

"That I will, my love. I will help you in the best way I know; by trying to
tell you what I have heard and learned about him--heard and learned of the
Father, I hope and trust. It is coming near to the time when he was born;--
but I have spoken quite as long as you are able to bear to-night."

"No, no, papa. Do go on."

"No, my dear; no more to-night. That would be to offend against the very
truth I have been trying to set forth to you. But next Sunday--you have
plenty to think about till then--I will talk to you about the baby Jesus;
and perhaps I may find something more to help you by that time, besides
what I have got to say now."

"But," said my wife, "don't you think, Connie, this is too good to keep all
to ourselves? Don't you think we ought to have Wynnie and Dora in?"

"Yes, yes, mamma. Do let us have them in. And Harry and Charlie too."

"I fear they are rather young yet," I said. "Perhaps it might do them
harm."

"It would be all the better for us to have them anyhow," said Ethelwyn,
smiling.