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Page 7
With a quite unexplainable interest Miss Terry watched to see what would
happen to Miranda. She waited for some time. The street seemed deserted.
Miss Terry caught the faint sound of singing. The choristers were passing
through a neighboring street, and doubtless all wayfarers within hearing of
their voices were following in their wake.
She was thoroughly interested in her grim joke, but she was becoming
impatient. Were there to be no more passers? Must the doll stay there
unreclaimed until morning? Presently she became aware of a child's figure
drawing near. It was a little girl of about ten, very shabbily dressed,
with tangled yellow curls hanging over her shoulders. There was something
familiar about her appearance, Miss Terry could not say what it was. She
came hurrying along the sidewalk with a preoccupied air, and seemed about
to pass the steps without seeing the package lying there. But just as she
was opposite the window, her eye caught the gleam of the white paper. She
paused. She looked at it eagerly; it was such a tempting package, both as
to its size and shape! She went closer and bent down to examine it. She
took it into her bare little hands and seemed to squeeze it gently. There
is no mistaking the contours of a doll, however well it may be enveloped in
paper wrappings. The child's eyes grew more and more eager. She glanced
behind her furtively; she looked up and down the street. Then with a sudden
intuition she looked straight ahead, up the flight of steps.
[Illustration: SHE LOOKED UP AND DOWN THE STREET]
Miss Terry read her mind accurately. She was thinking that probably the
doll belonged in that house; some one must have dropped the package while
going out or in. Would she ring the bell and return it? Miss Terry had
not thought of that possibility. But she shook her head and her lip curled.
"Return it? Of course not! Ragged children do not usually return promising
packages which they have found,--even on Christmas Eve. Look now!"
Once more the child glanced stealthily behind her, up and down the street.
Once more she looked up at the dark house before her, the only black spot
in a wreath of brilliancy. She did not see the face peering at her through
the curtains, a face which scanned her own half wistfully. What was to
become of Miranda? The little girl thrust the package under her ragged coat
and ran away down the street as fast as her legs could take her.
"A thief!" cried Miss Terry. "That is the climax. I have detected a child
taking what she knew did not belong to her, on Christmas Eve! Where are all
their Sunday School lessons and their social improvement classes? I knew
it! This Christmas spirit that one hears so much about is nothing but an
empty sham. I have proved it to my satisfaction to-night. I will burn the
rest of these toys, every one of them, and then go to bed. It is too
disgusting! She was a nice-looking child, too. Poor old Miranda!"
With something like a sigh Miss Terry strode back to the fire, where the
play box stood gaping. She had made but a small inroad upon its heaped-up
treasures. She threw herself listlessly into the chair and began to pull
over the things. Broken games and animals, dolls' dresses painfully
tailored by unskilled fingers, disjointed members,--sorry relics of past
pleasures,--one by one Miss Terry seized them between disdainful thumb and
finger and tossed them into the fire. Her face showed not a qualm at
parting with these childhood treasures; only the stern sense of a good
housekeeper's duty fulfilled. With queer contortions the bits writhed on
the coals, and finally flared into dissolution, vanishing up chimney in a
shower of sparks to the heaven of spent toys.
CHAPTER VI
THE CHRISTMAS ANGEL
Almost at the bottom of the box Miss Terry's fingers closed about a small
object. Once more she drew out the papier-m�ch� Angel which had so excited
the wonder of Norah when once before that evening it had come to light.
Miss Terry held it up and looked at it with the same expression on her
face, half tender, half contemptuous. "The Christmas Angel!" she murmured
involuntarily, as she had done before. And again there flashed through her
mind a vivid picture.
It was the day before Christmas, fifty years earlier. She and her brother
Tom were trimming the Christmas tree in this very library. She saw Tom, in
a white piqu� suit with short socks that were always slipping down his fat
legs. She saw herself in a white dress and blue ribbons, pouting in a
corner. They had been quarreling about the Christmas tree, disputing as to
which of them should light the first candle when the time arrived. Then
their mother came to them smiling, a sweet-faced lady who seemed not to
notice the red faces and the tears. She put something into Tom's hand
saying, "This is the Christmas Angel of peace and good-will. Hang it on the
tree, children, so that it may shed a blessing on all who come here to give
and to receive."
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