"My little girl," Uncle Robert said, "you must not begin to think that there can be no religion without sacrifice. God gives us all things richly to enjoy, and it would be ungrateful if we did not accept the good, the joy."
All things. As they hurried softly on, the roads being covered with a light fall of snow, she drank in the beauty around her,—a glimmer of silvery moonlight flooding the open spaces, the shadowy thickets of evergreens, whose crisp clustering spines were stirred dreamily with the slow wind, making a dim and heavenly music, as if even now it might lead kings and shepherds to the place where the Christ Child had been born, the myriad of stars overhead in that blue, spacious vault, and the heaven above it all. And thinking of the distant plains of Judæa brought her to the plains nearer home,—the broad fields of Virginia dotted with its camps and tents, and bristling with forts. Thousands of men were there, keeping Christmas eve, and among them Mr. Meredith. How many beside him saw the star and came to worship the Saviour!
She felt the living Presence in the awe of this hush and beauty. Her child's soul was hovering on the point of girlhood, to open into something rare and precious, perhaps, having greater opportunities than many others. She was not so fearful or doubting as she had been an hour ago, for it seemed to her now that she had only to go forward.
They paused first at a little tumble-down cottage. There were seven people housed in it,—the old folks, Mrs. Maybin, whose husband had gone to the war, and four children. Mrs. Maybin went out washing and house-cleaning. Jane, the eldest daughter, thirteen, worked in the paper-mill.
Uncle Robert looked at the label by moonlight. "I'll just put it down on the door-step and knock," he said. "You hold the ponies."
The knock made Kathie's own heart beat. Uncle Robert ran back to the carriage, which stood in the shade of a great black-walnut tree.
Kathie leaned over. Jane Maybin came to the door, lamp in hand, and looked around wonderingly. Then, spying the great bundle, she cried, loudly, "O mother, come here, quick!"
The ponies wore no bells to-night, so they drove off noiselessly, a peculiar smile illuminating Kathie's face. If the Maybins thought their good fortune rained down from heaven, so much the better. The child was always a little shy of her good deeds, a rare and exquisite humility being one of her virtues. And though any little act of ingratitude touched her to the quick, she never went about seeking praise.
A dozen homes made glad by unexpected gifts, and three times that number of hearts. In several instances they had difficult work to escape detection, but that added to the fun and interest of it, Kathie declared; and she came home in a bright, beautiful glow, her cheeks glowing with a winter-rose tint, and her pretty mouth smiling in a more regal scarlet than the holly berries nodding their wise little heads above picture-frames.
Aunt Ruth kissed her quietly. It seemed as if she understood the steps in the new life which the child was taking, and knew by experience that silent ways were sometimes the most pleasant.