The Empire Annual for Girls, 1911 | Page 7

. Its features seemed more
distinct than many which she knew in the flesh. She shivered slightly,
and drew her sister from the room.
"Now, Peg, to cover up our tracks; to leave everything as we found it!
This door was shut. . . . Have we moved anything from its place, left
any footmarks on the floor? Be careful, dear, be careful! . . . Push that
chair into place. . . ."

* * * * *
The tyre was repaired. The chauffeur was straightening his back after
the long stoop. Jack and Tom were indignantly demanding what had
been done with the hamper. Being hungry and unromantic, it took some
little time to convince them that there had been no choice in the matter,
and that the large family had a right to their luxuries which was not to
be gainsaid. They had not seen the pitiful emptiness of the Christmas
table; they had not seen the chair set ready for the Christ Child. The
girls realised as much and dealt gently with them, and in the outcome
no one felt the poorer; for the welcome bestowed upon the surprise
party was untinged by any shadow of embarrassment, and they sat
around a festal board, happy to feel that their presence was hailed as the
culminating joy of the day.
* * * * *
It was evening when the car again approached the lonely house, and
Margaret, speaking down the connecting tube, directed the chauffeur to
drive at his slowest speed for the next quarter of a mile.
Jack was lying back in his corner, absorbed in happy dreams. Never so
long as he lived could he forget this Christmas Day, which had seen the
fulfilment of his hopes in Myra's sweetness, Myra's troth. Tom was fast
asleep, dreaming of "dorm." suppers, and other escapades of the last
term. The two sisters were as much alone as if the only occupants of the
car.
They craned forward, eager for the first glimpse of the house, and
caught sight of a beam of light athwart the darkness of the night.
The house was all black save for one window, but that was as a
lighthouse in a waste, for the curtains were undrawn, and fire and lamp
sent out a rosy glow which seemed the embodiment of cheer.
Against the white background of the wall a group of figures could be
seen standing together beneath the lamp; the strains of a harmonium
floated sweetly on the night air, a chorus of glad young voices singing

the well-known words:
"The King of Love my Shepherd is!"
With a common impulse the two girls waved their hands from the
window as the car plunged forward.
"Good-night, little sisters!"
"Good-night, little brothers!"
[Sidenote: How He comes]
"Sleep well, little people. The Christ Child is with you. You asked Him,
and He came----"
"And the wonderful thing," said Peg, "the most wonderful thing is, that
He came through us!"
"But that," answered Margaret thoughtfully, "is just how He always
does come."

[Sidenote: The story of a girl's adventure for a father's sake that may
help girls who are at all like Anna.]
Anna
BY
KATHARINE S. MACQUOID
Three thousand feet up the side of a Swiss mountain a lateral valley
strikes off in the direction of the heights that border the course of the
Rhine on its way from Coire to Sargans. The closely-cropped,
velvet-smooth turf, the abundant woods, sometimes of pine-trees and
sometimes of beech and chestnut, give a smiling, park-like aspect to the
broad green track, and suggest ideas of peace and plenty.

As the path gradually ascends on its way to Fadara the wealth of wild
flowers increases, and adds to the beauty of the scene.
A few brown cow-stables are dotted about the flower-sprinkled
meadows; a brook runs diagonally across the path, and some
freshly-laid planks show that inhabitants are not far off; but there is not
a living creature in sight. The grasshoppers keep up their perpetual
chirrup, and if one looks among the flowers one can see the gleam of
their scarlet wings as they jump; for the rest, the flowers and the birds
have it all to themselves, and they sing their hymns and offer their
incense in undisturbed solitude.
When one has crossed the brook and climbed an upward slope into the
meadow beyond it, one enters a thick fir-wood full of fragrant shadow;
at the end is a bank, green and high, crowned by a hedge, and all at
once the quiet of the place has fled.
Such a variety of sounds come down the green bank! A cock is crowing
loudly, and there is the bleat of a young calf; pigs are squeaking one
against another, and in the midst of the din