"I must go now, Pat," Nell said, as they went downstairs again; "I told Papa I'd be back soon."
"Somehow," she added, as she and Patricia stood a moment on the front steps, "I can't make it seem like Christmas eve—not even with your five stockings, Pat."
Patricia looked out at the white whirl of snow; the street seemed deserted, but here and there, where a blind had been left undrawn, a light shone out.
Then, from the house next door, came the sound of a Christmas carol:
"Hark! the herald angels sing
Glory to the new-born King."
Clearly, joyously, through the still, snow-laden air, sounded the words—
"Risen with healing in His wings,
Light and life to all He brings.
Hail, the Sun of Righteousness!