"Mary and Margaret opened their window and watched the singers at their work....Mr. Annett conducted vigorously and the singing was controlled as well as robust. As the country voices caroled the eternal story of joyous birth, Mary felt that she had never been so happy. Across the road she could see the upstairs light in the bedroom of the Emery children, and against the glowing pane were silhouetted two dark heads.
"How excited they must be, thought Mary! The stockings would be hanging limply over the bed rail, just as her own and Margaret's used to hang so many years ago. There was nothing to touch the exquisite anticipation of Christmas Eve. 'Hark the herald angels sing, Glory to the new-born King,'
fluted the choir boys, their eyes on Mr. Annett, their mouths like dark Os in the lamplight. And the sound of their singing rose like incense to the thousands of stars above."
--Village Christmas, Miss Read