She hides her face. She will not see the mist of Punishment Land rise, and blot out that loved familiar scene. She closes her ears, not to hear the tramp of the restless feet, the sobbings and cries of the children there.
What sound pierces through the silence and reaches muffled through the hands pressed tightly against her ears? She removes them and listens. It is the sound of bells, Christmas bells. Louder and louder, clearer and clearer they ring. The happy chimes fill all the air. Somebody strokes her hair with a caressing touch, a voice whispers, “Good old Kitsy; good old Kitsy!”
Kitty looks up. It is her guardian child who is bending over her; with Johnnie’s eyes he looks at her; he is smiling; his wings sparkle; his rainbow dress is like woven fire; his hair shines like a tiny sun about his head.
“You have been out on Christmas Eve,” he whispers; “the night when all the goblins are abroad, when the good and evil spirits walk the earth. But it is the night when love is strongest, and keeps those safe who are true. Look! look! the night has passed; the holy morning has dawned, and you are home.”
“Home!” cries Kitty, starting to her feet.
Yes, the familiar scene is still there—the old street, the dear red-roofed home, the window with the curtains drawn across it. The fog dims the scene no longer. Love is unseen; but the gate is standing open, wide open, and a great web of hoar-frost hangs on the latch. For a moment Kitty remains stupidly gazing. She cannot believe it. Then she runs past the gate out into the road uttering a loud cry, “Johnnie! Johnnie!”
Then again another cry, “Johnnie!”
It seems to her that a weak voice answers, “Kitty! Kitty!”
Does that faint voice come out of the star? Does it speak out of the sky to her?
Kitty looks up: her foot trips; she falls—not to the ground, but down, down, down, and still that voice tinkles in her ear, “Kitty! Kitty!” Then