“Angels! why, little one?” she replied.
“Because there’s the star, mother, and I think it must be the one you told me about, that came when the angels sang, because it’s, oh! so beautiful! I should like them to come to-night; perhaps dear father will send them. Do you think if we sat ever so still they would fly down near us? You know, when I sit down under the big trees up the hills for a long time, the little birds fly down and close up their wings and come and look at me, and angels have wings, haven’t they, mother dear? and so perhaps they will come.”
“Oh!” cried Hal, “if they can fly about like that, Cis, I shouldn’t like it to-night, for there are a lot of Christmas-plums ripe on the tree in the orchard, and if they come near I expect they would want them,—I should. But I didn’t take any to-day, mother; we are saving them for to-morrow as you told us to do; I only sat down under the tree and picked up any that fell down. You know you told us not to run about when it was very hot, so I thought if I was good and sat still, God would make some plums drop down. But, I say, mother, what sort of hat does God wear?”
“Hat, my boy! what do you mean?”
“Why, mother, you said I must keep my hat on these hot days or I’d get sunstroke, and I’m sure it must be dreadfully hot for God up in the sky; there are no trees there to sit under.”
What merry laughter from little Cis followed Hal’s remark, but his mother said quietly, “Hush, my boy, we must not speak lightly of Him whose ways are not as ours.” Hal’s merry face became thoughtful, and the children were silent for a few moments; then the favourite tales were won from mother by many a caress,—tales, of which the words fell on the children’s ears like the pleasant dropping of summer rain, bringing forth sweet flowers of thought, may be in later years to bear a precious fruit. Then came the patter of little feet up the stairs, and merry chatter, as the stockings were hung up ready for Santa Claus; and then, when mother came, there were murmurs of sleepy voices, as the two little white-robed figures knelt with folded hands on their curtained beds, and lay down with the last words of their childish prayer on their rosy lips—
“In the Kingdom of Thy Grace,
Give a little child a place.”
“A place!” Aye, would that many an older child of earth could claim such a place as His little ones have! Then, with mother’s last “tuck up” and good-night kiss, and one last look to make sure that the stockings were all right, silence fell on the little restless tongues, and closed the sleepy eyes.