At the silver sound of the little voice, the kitten in Angel Odel's lap stiffened itself for a spring. Mechanically her hands tightened on the ball of fluff, but it wriggled free, and, with a jump, landed clear of the palm, on the grass beyond. Small as it was, the little animal left the fronds rustling in its wake, and the woman on her knees, looking up with a start, caught a glimpse of something gray under the tree. Two pinafored children, emerging from a side-path, caught the same glimpse, and as the younger snatched up the kitten the elder took a step forward and parted the long green plumes of the agitated palm.
"Why, mother!" she exclaimed in French, "there's a strange child under our tree, sitting seat! Oh, but a beautiful child in on our 22 splendid clothes. Can she be real, or—oh, mother! Is she the Christmas fairy father says God sends to bless those who love one another?"
Without answering, the woman got up from her knees. Flushed with embarrassment, she peeped over her daughter's golden head. The younger girl peeped, also, hanging shyly to her mother's dress. It was a horrid moment for Angel Odell.
The children were smaller than she—not more than six and four years old at most—and they were, Angel saw at a glance, pretty as life-size dolls, with their yellow curls, rose-red cheeks, and pink pinafores. Their great blue eyes stared at her, not with anger, but bewildered admiration. Even their mother did not look as if she meant to scold or sweep the intruder angrily out of her hiding-place. But, child as she was, Angel realized that she had been doing a forbidden thing, a shameful thing. She had been eavesdropping. She had seen the woman crying; she had heard her talking over family secrets with her husband; she had come to know 23 what she had no right to know, and what those two had meant for each other's hearts alone. Ever since she was old enough to learn anything, she had been taught that "eavesdropping" was one of those disgusting sins no honorable girl or boy could possibly commit. Her father himself had said those very words; unforgettable words, because father was Angel's hero. What would he think if he could see her now? Somehow, she must atone!
"I—I didn't mean to hide," she stammered. "I looked in—the gate was open. I thought—maybe it was a fairy garden—"
"Oh, mother, you see she is a fairy," gasped Suze junior, the elder of the children.
"Perhaps," agreed Suze senior, doubtfully. And her eyes challenged the stranger. "Who are you, really? Where do you come from?"
"I—I often play I'm a fairy." The culprit seized the straw held out to her. "I—expect I am one. I know the me in the looking-glass is, and sometimes I can't tell which is which Mademoiselle plays she can't, either. She says when I come in, 24 'Which is this, today, the angel or the fairy?' My name's Angela."
"Oh mother!" breathed both children together, their eyes round with awe. "An angel and a fairy."
"And I'm lost," the wonderful visitor hurried on, heading off an answer from mother. "I don't know where I live."