The table was loaded, as Christmas tables should be, and, as I asked
God's blessing on it and us, the thought came that the answer had
preceded the request and that we were blessed in unusual degree.
After dinner the rugs in the great room were rolled up, and the young
folks danced to Laura's music, which could inspire unwilling feet. But
there were none such that night. Tom and Kate led off in the newest and
most fantastic waltz, others followed, and Polly and I were the only
spectators. An hour of this, and then we gathered around the hearth to
hear Polly read "The Christmas Carol." No one reads like Polly. Her low,
soft voice seems never to know fatigue, but runs on like a musical
brook. When the reading was over, a hush of satisfied enjoyment had
taken possession of us all. It was not broken when Miss Jessie turned to
the piano and sang that glorious hymn, "Lead, Kindly Light." Jack was
close beside her, his blue eyes shining with an appreciation of which
any woman might be proud, and his baritone in perfect harmony with her
rich contralto.
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