You know nothin'
about it, you poor critter. I done believe you never hearn no
one tell about it. Maybe Miss Daisy wouldn't read us de story,
and de angels, and de shepherds, and dat great light what come
down, and make us feel good for Christmas; and uncle Darry,
he'll t'ank de Lord."
The last words Were put in a half-questioning form to me,
rather taking for granted that I would readily do what was
requested. And hardly anything the world, I suppose, could
have given me such deep gratification at the moment. Margaret
was sent up stairs to fetch my Bible; the circle closed in
around the fire and me; a circle of listening, waiting, eager,
interested faces; some few of them shone with pleasure or grew
grave with reverent love, while, I read slowly the chapters
that tell of the first Christmas night. I read them from all
the gospels; picking the story out first in one, then in
another; answered sometimes by low words of praise that echoed
but did not interrupt me; — words that were but some dropped
notes of the song that began that night in heaven, and has
been running along the ages since, and is swelling and will
swell into a great chorus of earth and heaven, by and by.
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