And when they were alone, Gottlieb was not ashamed to hide his tears on his mother's heart.
"See, darling mother!" he said, "the dear Saviour did send the raven! Perhaps, one day, He will make us good enough for Him to send the angels."
Then the simple family all knelt down and thanked God from their hearts, and Gottlieb added one especial bit of his own of praise and prayer for his kind Hans, of whom, on account of his grim face and rough voice, he had stood in some dread.
"Forgive me, dear Lord Jesus," he said, "that I did not know how good he was!"
And when they had eaten their hasty Christmas feast, and the mother was smoothing his hair and making the best of his poor garments, Gottlieb said, looking up gravely in her face,—
"Who knows, mother, if Hans is only a raven now, that the good God may not make him, his very self, the angel?"
"Perhaps God is making Hans into the angel even now," replied the mother.
And she remembered for a long time the angelic look of love and devotion in the child's eyes.
For she knew very well the Cathedral choir was no angelic host.
She knew she was not welcoming her boy that morning to a haven, but launching him on a voyage of many perils. But she knew, also, that it is only by such perils, and through such voyages, that men, that saints, are made.