She hated those two boys who had been
spared when her own was taken. She would not make them happy.
"No, you shall not have it," she cried, clutching the Noah's ark fiercely.
"I will destroy it."
The poor woman and the children followed her wistfully. The little boys
were crying. They were cold and hungry and disappointed. They had come so
near to something pleasant. They had almost been lucky; but the luck had
passed over their heads to another.
The woman in mourning strode on rapidly, the thoughts within her no less
black than the garments which she wore. She hated the world; she hated the
people who lived in it. She hated Christmas time, when every one seemed
merry except herself. And yes, yes! Most of all she hated children. She
clenched her teeth wickedly; her mind reeled.
Suddenly, somewhere, a chorus of happy voices began to sing the words of an
old carol:--
"Holy night! Peaceful night!
All is dark save the light,
Yonder where they sweet vigil keep,
O'er the Babe who in silent sleep
Rests in heavenly peace."
Softly and sweetly the childish voices ascended from the street. The woman
in black stopped short, breathing hard. She saw the band of choristers
standing in a group on the sidewalk and in the snow, their hats pulled down
over their eyes, their collars turned up around their ears, their hands
deep in pockets.
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