Then she turned away from the window and threw herself down on the
scratchy old haircloth sofa, with her arms folded under her head,
to stare at the ceiling and think it all over. She had kept her
temper that day, at least; for so much she could be thankful. But
now she would have given worlds to run away out of the house and
down the street, to spend the evening with Polly or Molly, or even
Florence. Mrs. Dwight was busy with her husband, so Jean was quite
alone and could be as forlorn as she pleased.
Suddenly she sprang up and listened intently. There was the
rhythmic beat of footsteps on the sidewalk which Willie had
cleared, and a chorus of blithe young voices rang out on the quiet
air.
"'Hark! Hark! Upon the frosty air of night
A joyful anthem swells!
A song of gladness and delight,
The bells ring out with all their might,
And echo o'er the fields, with snow all bright,
The merry Christmas bells!'"
"It's a carol!" And Jean strained her ears to listen, while the
steps and the voices came nearer, and still nearer.
"'Hark! Hark! About the gray old belfry tower
Their gladsome notes resound,
And carol through the moonlight hour,
O'er snowy sward and glist'ning bower,
The glory of the Lord, whose saving power
On earth to-night was found.
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