Only a few boys and girls waited in the dim old choir
loft, where Rosamond seated herself quietly.
Betty's fingers trembled so at first that the music sounded dull and
far away; but her courage crept back to her in the silence of the
church, and the organ seemed to help her with a brave power of its own.
In the dark church only the altar and a great gold star above it shone
bright. Through an open window somewhere behind her she could hear the
winter wind rattling the ivy leaves and bending the trees. Yet,
somehow, she did not feel lonesome and forsaken this Christmas eve, far
away from home, but safe and comforted and sheltered. The voice of the
old rector reached her faintly in pauses; habit led her along the
service, and the star at the altar held her eyes.
Strange new ideas and emotions flowed in upon her brain. Tears stole
softly into her eyes, yet she felt in her heart a sweet glow. Slowly
the Christmas picture that had flamed and danced before her all day,
painted in the glory of holly and mistletoe and tinsel, faded out, and
another shaped itself, solemn and beautiful in the altar light.
"My dear child, I thank you very much!" The old rector held Betty's
hand in both his. "I cannot have a Christmas morning service--our
people have too much to do to come then--but I was especially anxious
that our evening service should have some message, some inspiration for
them, and your music has made it so.
Pages:
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169