CHAPTER XX.
GOOD-NIGHT TO THE INFANT OF PRAGUE The last hour of Christmas Eve ticked slowly to its close.
On all around grew that sense of the herald angels, bending over a waiting world, poised upon outstretched wings.

The hush had fallen which carries the mind away to the purple hills of Bethlehem, the watching shepherds, the quiet folds, the sudden glory in the sky.
The old Grange was closing its eyes at last, and settling itself to slumber.
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.