Chapter VII

by Kate Douglas Wiggin

　　VIIRepeating history, Letty was again at her open window. She had beenhalf-ashamed to reproduce the card, as it were, but something impelledher. She was safe from scrutiny, too, for everybody had gone to thetree—the Pophams, Mr. Davis, Clarissa Perry, everybody for a quarterof a mile up and down the street, and by now the company would begathered and the tree lighted. She could keep watch alone, the onlysound being that of the children's soft breathing in the next room.

　　Letty had longed to go to the festival herself, but old ClarissaPerry, who cared for the twins now and then in Letty's few absences,had a niece who was going to "speak a piece," and she yearned to bepresent and share in the glory; so Letty was kept at home as she hadbeen numberless other times during the three years of her vicariousmotherhood.

　　The night was mild again, as in the year before. The snow lay likewhite powder on the hard earth; the moon was full, and the street wasa length of dazzling silence. The lighted candle was in the parlorwindow, shining toward the meeting-house, the fire burned brightly onthe hearth, the front door was ajar. Letty wrapped her old cape roundher shoulders, drew her hood over her head, and seating herself atthe window repeated under her breath:—

　　"My door is on the latch to-night,

　　The hearth-fire is aglow.

　　I seem to hear swift passing feet,

　　The Christ Child in the snow.

　　"My heart is open wide to-night

　　For stranger, kith, or kin;

　　I would not bar a single door

　　Where Love might enter in!"