Then, as he grew very cross, she said, “I’ll try, Paul,” and ran off in the dark.
It was a bitter cold night: the sharp wind cut through her thin garments like a knife. Men stamped to keep their feet from freezing. Ladies hid their faces behind their furs. Scarcely any one spoke; but all went hurrying on, eager to get out of the cold.
“None of these people have anything to give me for a blanket,” thought little Nora.
She ventured to beg at a few houses: but the servants shut the doors in her face; and she could hear them answer to the people above stairs, “Only a beggar-girl.”
For all it was so cold, Nora could not pass the window of the back-piazza without looking in for a moment. The curtain was partly drawn aside. No one was in the room; but through the door she could see another larger room, brilliantly lighted. There were wax candles burning, and a bright fire was blazing in the fireplace. There were vases of flowers upon the table, and the walls were hung-with large pictures in shining gilt frames. Around the fire many people were seated, and the little girl was there kissing them all good-night. Nora could see them catch her up in their arms. One gave her a ride on his foot, another gave her a toss in the air, and one made believe put her in his pocket; and to every one the little girl gave a kiss on both cheeks.
Then her mother led her into the room where Nora had so many times watched the going to bed; and Nora saw, as she had often seen before, the white shoulders catch kisses when the dress slipped off, then the bright face peep through the night-gown and catch a kiss, and the little rosy feet put up to have their toes counted. Then there were huggings, and showers of kisses; and the little girl was laid in her crib, and blankets tucked close about her.
Next came the evening hymn, which the mother sang, sitting by the crib. Poor little Nora was almost benumbed with cold; but this singing was so sweet, she must stop just a few moments longer. Wrapping her thin shawl tightly about her, she stood bending over, her ear close to the window, that not a note might be lost.
And soon, almost without knowing it, she, too, was singing. But, as Nora had never learned any hymns, she could only sing what was in her mind: “Nora is cold; Nora has no blanket; Nora cannot kiss any mother.”
She sang very softly at first; but her voice would come out. It grew louder every moment; and this so delighted her, that she forgot where she was, forgot the cold, forgot every thing except the joy of the music. And, when the tune ran high, her voice rang out so loud and clear, that a policeman came toward the gate; and then Nora was frightened, and ran away. She ran back to the place where Paul was lying. He was asleep now. She crept in among the straw, and sat there shivering, looking up at the stars. She looked up at the stars: but she was thinking of the good-night kisses in the lighted room around the fireside, and of the little girl lying asleep in her crib, with the loving mother watching near; and the more these pleasant thoughts passed through her mind, the more lonely and sorrowful she felt.
“O Paul!” she whispered, “if I didn’t have you, I shouldn’t have anybody in the world. Good-night, Paul.” She put her arms softly around him, stroked his hair, and then tucked her thin shawl closely about him, just as the lady had tucked the blankets about her little girl, and kissed him. “Good-night, Paul,” she whispered again.