His heart was gladdened when he saw an old lady of the Grey "clan" smiling sweetly as she accepted Alois Maise's proffer of her little gilt-edge hymnbook. He smiled to himself as Hetty Maise made room for Kitty Farwell when the latter, arriving late, found her own pew occupied. His smile broadened into a grin as he watched them singing from the same book, held at arm's length, as if they still were afraid of each other.
The program "passed off" much as all Christmas Eve services do, an occasional prompting, a song a trifle off key, a crying baby quickly hushed with peppermints or crackers.
But beneath it all there was a deep undercurrent of some unexplainable feeling. A ruddy glow suffused Miss Hetty's cheeks. Robert Grey felt the presence of some great unknown joy. The primary youngsters lisping their faltering words, the men lighting the candles that sent forth the glorious message sparkling from the trees, all seemed moved.
"Was the angels' song, 'Peace, good will,' at last to be realized? was it finally to find its true response in the forgiving, loving hearts of his faction-split congregation?" that was the minister's hopeful thought. Wise in experience, he recognized this pervading influence—knew that it only needed an impulse, like a spark in a powder magazine, to bring about its expression.
At last it was all over but Pearl's song. A dainty figure dressed entirely in white stepped reverently before the altar—the sweet charm of childish innocence making its appeal even before a note was sung.
The tense silence was broken. Sweet tones with throbbing notes of appeal, carrying with them that Christmas message of immeasurable love, penetrated every corner of the house of worship and the heart of every listener. The story that she sung—that oft-repeated but never old message of love, of peace, of good-will, that binds the heart to God and makes the whole world kin—yes they had heard it often—but now their hearts, long irritated by selfish pride and hate, yielded to this sweet-voiced appeal, so softly yet so compellingly beating on these fast-crumbling barriers.
The song was ended. For a moment there was hushed silence. Then Jeoffrey, then Herman Grey Lane, Miss Hetty, Robert Grey—everyone arose, and the minister stood before them with tears streaming from his eyes and falteringly yet fervently pronounced upon them the benediction.
After the doxology had been sung with more fervor than melody, things happened so fast that Pearl and Periwinkle never could get them straightened out. Very little was said, but people smiled at one another through tears and clasped hands silently. And strangest of all Mr. Grey and Aunt Hetty were leaving church together, and seemed to have actually forgotten their existence. But she turned at the door, and they heard her say softly:
"The children, Robert, the dear children!" and she came back and kissed them as she had never done before.
"Peri shall go to college in a few years," said Mr. Grey, "and Pearl shall study music." Then he kissed them also and Miss Hetty with a pretty blush called him their Uncle Robert.