That Christmas table--should they ever forget it? If they lived to be a
hundred years old should they ever again behold a feast so poor in
material goods, so rich in beauty of thought? For it would appear that
though money was wanting, there was no lack of love and poetry in this
lonely home. The table was decked with great bunches of holly, and
before every seat a little card bore the name of a member of the family,
printed on a card, which had been further embellished by a flower or
spray, painted by an artist whose taste was in advance of his
skill--"Father," "Mother," "Amy," "Fred," "Norton," "Mary," "Teddums,"
"May." Eight names in all, but nine chairs, and the ninth no ordinary,
cane-seated chair like the rest, but a beautiful, high-backed,
carved-oak erection, ecclesiastical in design, which looked strangely
out of place in the bare room.
There was no card before this ninth chair, but on the uncushioned seat
lay a square piece of cardboard, bordered with a painted wreath of
holly, inscribed on which were four short words.
Margaret and Peg read them with a sudden shortening of the breath and
smarting of the eyes:
"_For the Christ Child!_"
"Ah-h!" Margaret's hand stretched out, seized Peg's, and held it fast.
In the rush and bustle of the morning it had been hard to realise the
meaning of the day: now, for the first time, the spirit of Christmas
flooded her heart, filled it with love, with a longing to help and to
serve.
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