The tree was still bare, and gave no signs of bloom.
“Twelve o’clock!”
And off in the distance pealed the bells, ushering in King George’s Christmas.
The torches flared upon the tree; the people in the rear of the crowd stood on tiptoe and craned their necks to see the milk-white bloom.
But the tree was silent and bare!
King George could not be right.
The next day aunt Katherine came out of the room where she was putting her bed linen away in the lavender-scented press.
“The church-bells have done ringing,” she said. “Run, children, and see if any one has gone.”
Off flew Phœbe with Roger after her, and when she reached the church-yard, the only person she saw was Marian Leesh, a neighbor’s child, looking over the wall at the minister and the clerk who were standing by the door. When the clergyman saw Phœbe he came toward her.
“Child,” he said, “what is the meaning of this? Is it possible that the people refuse to keep the Christmas-day? Where is your family?”