Mary gave a great sigh of relief.  “Oh, I am so glad!” she said.  “It was such a wicked house.  And here it is so good!”

“Good!” Miss Terry echoed the word with a sigh.  “Come with me, Mary,” she said.

She led her little guest through the hall to the library, where a great fire was blazing, with sundry mysterious packages in white paper piled on the table beside it.  But Miss Terry did not stop at the fire-place.  She drew Mary to the window which looked out on the sidewalk.  Above the lower sash Mary saw the remains of a burned-out Christmas candle; and over it hung a pink papier-mache Angel stretching out open arms towards her.

“This is the Christmas Angel, Mary,” said Miss Terry.  “He is as old as Miranda—­”

“He is as old as Christmas,” interrupted Tom, looking in from the hall.

“When we were children, Tom and I, we hung him on our Christmas tree,” went on Miss Terry.  “We think he brought you to us.  We believe he has changed the world for us,—­has brought us peace, good-will, and happiness.  He is going to be the guardian angel of our house.  You must love him, Mary.”

“How beautiful he is!” said Mary reverently.  “His face shines like the Baby’s that I saw once in the Church.  Oh, Miss Angelina!  He is like the Christ-Child himself!”

“Call me Aunt Angelina,” said Miss Terry with a quick breath.

“Aunt Angelina,” cried the child, throwing her arms about Miss Terry’s neck.

Tom came and put his great furry coat-sleeves about them both.  “And Uncle Tom,” he said.

“Dear Uncle Tom!” whispered the child shyly.

There were tears in the eyes of all three.

“Now we shall live happy ever after,” said Tom.

And the Christmas Angel beamed upon them.