In her mind's eye she could see the high waves of the lake rolling and tumbling from hill to hill, and could outline the forest opposing its rugged weight to the tempest. Under the successive attacks of the gale, the loosened old joints of the house creaked their protests at the blizzard's roughness. The shrieking of the wind, the sharp rattle of the storm-driven snow against the glass, everything in the wild night without, responded to the conflict in her own breast.
She felt sorry, now, she hadn't left Elsie to the mercy of the squatters; but the thought of what they would have done to the child made her shudder.
"No, not that!" she groaned aloud.
"What'd ye say, brat?" asked Andy, without moving.
"Nothing," muttered the girl, and she maintained her position at the window. It was as though she were waiting for something she knew not what. In a sudden hush of the storm, she heard, faintly, the chimes in the library tower on College Hill.
Ah, yes, it was Christmas Eve! How Boy had looked forward to Santa Claus! How many little things she'd made for his stocking! She drew a long, sobbing breath. Boy wouldn't want any of her love-things any more.
She knew the chimes were playing,
"Peace on earth, good will to men."
Every Christmas Eve, at midnight, the bells rang out the sacred chorus. For many years, the music had completed her Christmas preparations. The annual message had always brought her inspiration and spiritual uplift. A brick, torn from its place in the chimney, tumbled down the roof. Its clatter rudely broke in upon the joyous refrain. So had Waldstricker destroyed her peace. No peace for her, no peace for him! She tried to fit the words to the chiming notes but without success.
"Peace on earth, good will to men."