IX

Up in the choir-loft, chokily Guy whispered to Margaret, "Can't we end

with 'Holy Night,' again? Nothing else seems to fit, after that."

She nodded, her eyes wet. It had not been thought best to ask the

congregation to sing. There was no knowing whether anybody would sing if

they were asked. Now, it seemed fortunate that it had been so arranged,

for somehow the congregation did not look exactly as if it could sing.

Certainly not George Tomlinson, for he had a large frog in his throat.

Not Asa Fraser, for he had a furious cold in his head. Not Maria Hill,

for though she hunted vigorously, high and low, for her handkerchief,

she was unable to locate it, and the front of her best black silk was

rapidly becoming shiny in spots--a fact calculated to upset anybody's

singing. Not even Miss Jane Pollock, for though no tears bedewed

her bright black eyes, there was a peculiar heaving quality in her

breathing, which suggested an impediment of some sort not to be readily

overcome. And it may be safely said that there was not a baker's dozen

of people left in the church who could have carried through the most

familiar hymn without breaking down.

So the four in the organ loft sang "Holy Night" again. They could not

have done a better thing. It is a holy night, indeed, when a messenger

from heaven comes down to this world of ours, though he take the form of

an old, old man with a peaceful face--but with eyes which can flash once

more with a light which is not of earth, and with lips upon which, for

one last mighty effort, has been laid a coal from off the altar of the

great High Priest.

_"Silent Night! Holy night!

Darkness flies, all is light!

Shepherds hear the angels sing--

Hallelujah! hail the king!

Jesus Christ is here!"_

X

George Tomlinson came heavily out of his pew. He had at last succeeded

in getting rid of the frog in his throat--or thought he had. It had

occurred to him that perhaps he ought to go up and speak to Elder

Blake--now sitting quietly in his chair, with William Sewall bending

over him--though he didn't know exactly what to say that would seem

adequate to the occasion.

At the same moment, Asa Fraser, still struggling with the cold in his

head, emerged from his pew, directly opposite. The two men did not look

at each other. But as they had been accustomed to allow their meeting

glances to clash with the cutting quality of implacable resentment, this

dropping of the eyes on the part of each might have been interpreted to

register a distinct advance toward peace.

As each stood momentarily at the opening of his pew, neither quite

determined whether to turn his face pulpit-ward or door-ward, Samuel

Burnett, coming eagerly up to them from the door-ward side, laid a

friendly hand on either black-clad arm. Whether Sam was inspired by

Heaven, or only by his own strong common-sense and knowledge of men,

will never be known. But he had been a popular man in North Estabrook,

ever since he had first begun to come there to see Nancy Fernald, and

both Tomlinson and Fraser heartily liked and respected him--a fact he

understood and was counting on now.

"Wasn't it great, Mr. Tomlinson?" said Sam, enthusiastically.

"Great--Mr. Fraser?" He looked, smiling, into first one austere face and

then the other. Then he gazed straight ahead of him, up at Elder Blake.

"Going up to tell him so? So am I!" He pressed the two arms, continuing

in his friendly way to retain his hold on both. "In all the years I've

gone to church, I've never heard preaching like that. It warmed up my

heart till I thought it would burst--and it made me want to go to work."

Almost without their own volition Tomlinson and Fraser found themselves

proceeding toward the pulpit--yet Sam's hands did not seem to be

exerting any force. The force came from his own vigorous personality,

which was one that invariably inspired confidence. If Burnett was going

up to speak to the Elder, it seemed only proper that they, the leading

men of the church, should go too.

William Sewall, having assured himself that his venerable associate

was not suffering from a more than natural exhaustion after his supreme

effort, stood still by his side, looking out over the congregation.

He now observed an interesting trio approaching the platform, composed

of his valued friend, Samuel Burnett--his fine face alight with his

purpose--and two gray-bearded men of somewhat unpromising exterior, but

plainly of prominence in the church, by the indefinable look of them. He

watched the three climb the pulpit stairs, and come up to the figure in

the chair--Sam, with tact, falling behind.

"You did well, Elder--you did well," said George Tomlinson, struggling

to express himself, and finding only this time-worn phrase. He stood

awkwardly on one foot, before Ebenezer Blake, like an embarrassed

schoolboy, but his tone was sincere--and a trifle husky, on account

of the untimely reappearance of the frog in his throat.

Elder Blake looked up--and William Sewall thought he had never seen a

sweeter smile on a human face, young or old. "You are kind to come and

tell me so, George," said he. "I had thought never to preach again. It

did me good."

"It did us good, sir," said Sam Burnett. He had waited an instant for

Fraser to speak, but saw that the cold in the head was in the ascendancy

again. "It did me so much good that I can hardly wait till I get back to

town to hunt up a man I know, and tell him I think he was in the right

in a little disagreement we had a good while ago. I've always been

positive he was wrong. I suppose the facts in the case haven't

changed--" he smiled into the dim blue eyes-- "but somehow I seem to see

them differently. It doesn't look to me worth while to let them stand

between us any longer."

"Ah, it's not worth while," agreed the old man quickly. "It's not worth

while for any of us to be hard on one another, no matter what the facts.

Life is pretty difficult, at its best--we can't afford to make it more

difficult for any human soul. Go back to town and make it right with

your friend, Mr. Burnett. I take it he was your friend, or you wouldn't

think of him to-night."

"Was--and is!" declared Sam, with conviction. "He's got to be, whether

he wants to or not. But he'll want to--I know that well enough. We've

been friends from boyhood--we'd just forgotten it, that's all."

There was a little pause. The old man sat with his white head leaning

against the high back of his chair, his face upturned, his eyes--with

an appeal in them--resting first upon the face of Asa Fraser, then upon

that of George Tomlinson. With a common impulse, William Sewall and

Samuel Burnett moved aside together, turning their backs upon the three.

Asa Fraser lifted his eyes and met those of George Tomlinson. With a

palpable effort--for he was a man of few words--he spoke.

"George," said he, "I guess I made a mistake, thinking as I did."

"Asey," responded Tomlinson quickly, "I guess you weren't the only one

that's made a mistake." And he held out his hand.

Fraser grasped it. With his other hand he raised his handkerchief and

blew his nose once more, violently--and finally. From this point the

smile in his eyes usurped the place of the moisture which had bothered

him so unwontedly, and put it quite to rout.

If you imagine that this little drama had escaped the attention of the

departing congregation, headed the other way, you are much mistaken. The

congregation was not headed the other way. From the moment when Burnett,

Fraser and Tomlinson had started toward the pulpit, the congregation, to

a man, had paused, and was staring directly toward them. It continued to

stare, up to the moment when the handshaking took place. But then--eyes

turned and met other eyes. Hearts beat fast, lips trembled, feet moved.

Unquestionably something had happened to the people of North Estabrook.

Do you know how sometimes the ice goes out of a river? From shore to

shore it has been frozen, cold and hard. For many months it has grown

solid, deepening and thickening until it seems as if there could be no

life left beneath. Then, at last, comes sunshine and rain and warmth.

The huge mass looks as impenetrable as ever, but all at once, some

day--crack!--the first thin, dark line spreads across the surface.

Then--_crack, crack!_--_crack, crack!_--in every direction the ice is

breaking up. Look quickly, now, if you would see that frozen surface

stretching seamless between shore and shore--for suddenly dark lanes of

water open up, which widen while you watch--and soon, incredibly soon,

the river has burst its bonds and is rushing freely once more between

its banks, with only the ever-diminishing blocks of melting ice upon its

surface to tell the story of its long imprisonment.

Even so, on that memorable Christmas night, did the ice in the North

Estabrook church break up. _Crack!_--George Tomlinson and Asa Fraser,

old friends but sworn foes, had shaken hands. _Crack!_ Mrs. Tomlinson

and Mrs. Fraser, tears running frankly down their cheeks, had followed

the example of their husbands--and glad enough to do it, for their homes

lay side by side, and each had had a hard time of it getting along

without the other. Miss Jane Pollock, seeing Mrs. Maria Hill's fruitless

search for her handkerchief, had long since drawn out one of her

own--she always carried two--and had held it in her hand, ready to offer

it, if she could just get to the point. But when she saw, upon the

pulpit platform, those two gripping hands, somehow she suddenly reached

the point. _Crack!_ --With no difficulty whatever Miss Pollock slipped

the handkerchief into Mrs. Hill's hand, whispering commiseratingly:

"I presume you've got one somewhere, Maria, but you just can't lay your

hand on it. Don't take the trouble to return it--it isn't of any value."

And Mrs. Hill, accepting the handkerchief, wiped away the unmanageable

tears, and turning round answered fervently; "I guess I _will_ return

it, Jane, if it's only so's to come to your house again--if you'll let

me in, after all I've said."

Even as they smiled, shamefacedly but happily, at each other, similar

scenes were being enacted. All about them spread the breaking ice.

Incredible, that it should happen in a night? Not so. The forces of

Nature are mighty, but they are as weakness beside the spiritual forces

of Nature's God.