One by one the brightly lighted windows darkened; the few remaining
lights moved upwards.
The Hollymead Waits had duly arrived, and played their annual Christmas
hymns. They had won gold from Ronnie, by ministering to his new-found
proud delight in his infant son. The village blacksmith, who played the
cornet and also acted spokesman for the band, had closed the selections
of angelic music, by exclaiming hoarsely, under cover of the night: "A
merry Christmas and a 'appy New Year, to Mrs. West, to Mr. West, and to
_Master_ West!"
Ronnie dashed out jubilant. The Waits departed well-content.
Helen said: "You dear old silly!"
"Master West," wakened by the cornet, also had something to say; but he
confided his remarks to his nurse, and was soon hushed back to slumber.
* * * * *
In the studio, the fire burned low.
The reflections in the long mirror, were indefinite and dim.
The Infant of Prague lay forgotten on the floor.
* * * * *
As midnight drew very near, the door of the studio was pushed softly
open, and Helen came in, wearing a soft white wrapper; a lighted candle
in her hand.
She placed the candle on a table; then, stooping, carefully lifted
Ronnie's 'cello from the floor, laid it in its rosewood case, and stood
looking down upon it. Then, smiling, touched its silver strings, with
loving fingers.
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