“Some traveller attracted by the light, perhaps; I’ll go and see.” And Tilly’s mother went to the door.
No one was there. The wind blew cold, the stars shone, the snow lay white on field and wood, and the Christmas moon was glittering in the sky.
“What sort of a face was it?” asked Tilly’s mother, coming back.
“A pleasant sort of face, I think; but I was so startled, I don’t quite know what it was like. I wish we had a curtain there,” said Tilly.
“I like to have our light shine out in the evening; for the road is dark and lonely just here, and the twinkle of our lamp is pleasant to people’s eyes as they go by. We can do so little for our neighbors, I am glad to cheer the way for them. Now put these poor old shoes to dry, and go to bed, deary; I’ll come soon.”
Tilly went, taking her bird with her to sleep in his basket near by, lest he should be lonely in the night.
Soon the little house was dark and still, and no one saw the Christmas spirits at their work that night.
When Tilly opened the door the next morning, she gave a loud cry, clapped her hands, and then stood still, quite speechless with wonder and delight. There, before the door, lay a great pile of wood, all ready to burn, a big bundle and a basket, with a lovely nosegay of winter roses, holly, and evergreen tied to the handle.
“O, mother, did the fairies do it?” cried Tilly, pale with her happiness, as she seized the basket while her mother took in the bundle.
“Yes, dear; the best and dearest fairy in the world, called ‘Charity.’ She walks abroad at Christmas time, does beautiful deeds like this, and does not stay to be thanked,” answered her mother, with full eyes, as she undid the parcel.