“I s’pose,” said Mr. Brownlow doubtfully, “they’d like to have you sit down with ’em, just ’s if they were folks—if you didn’t mind?”
Mind! I wish you could have seen the rich furs and overcoat come off and go down on the floor in a heap, before Polly could catch them!
When they were all seated, Mr. Brownlow looked over to the deacon, and he asked a blessing on the little ones gathered there. “Thy servants, the masters of this house, have suffered them to come unto thee,” he said in his prayer. “Wilt thou take them into thine arms, O Father of lights, and bless them!”
A momentary hush followed, and then the fun began again. Sweetly and swiftly kind words flew back and forth across the table, each one carrying its own golden thread and weaving the hearts of poor and rich into the one fine fabric of brotherhood and humanity they were meant to form.
Outside, the snow began to fall once more, each crystaled flake whispering softly as it touched the earth that Christmas night, “Peace—peace!”
