“Yes, I thought of that,” said Letty, flushing a little.  “I put the candle there first so that the house shouldn’t be all dark when the Pophams went by to choir-meeting, and just then I—­I remembered, and was glad I did it!”

“These are my verses, Letty.”  And Reba’s voice was soft as she turned her face away and looked at the flames mounting upward in the chimney:—­

    My door is on the latch to-night,
      The hearth fire is aglow. 
    I seem to hear swift passing feet,—­
      The Christ Child in the snow.

    My heart is open wide to-night
      For stranger, kith or kin. 
    I would not bar a single door
      Where Love might enter in!

There was a moment’s silence and Letty broke it.  “It means the sort of love the Christ Child brings, with peace and good-will in it.  I’m glad to be a part of that card, Reba, so long as nobody knows me, and—­”

Here she made an impetuous movement and, covering her eyes with her hands, burst into a despairing flood of confidence, the words crowding each other and tumbling out of her mouth as if they feared to be stopped.

“After I put the candle on the table ...  I could not rest for thinking ...  I wasn’t ready in my soul to light the Christ Child on his way ...  I was bitter and unresigned ...  It is three years to-night since the children were born ... and each year I have hoped and waited and waited and hoped, thinking that David might remember.  David! my brother, their father!  Then the fire on the hearth, the moon and the snow quieted me, and I felt that I wanted to open the door, just a little.  No one will notice that it’s ajar, I thought, but there’s a touch of welcome in it, anyway.  And after a few minutes I said to myself:  ’It’s no use, David won’t come; but I’m glad the firelight shines on mother’s picture, for he loved mother, and if she hadn’t died when he was scarcely more than a boy, things might have been different....  The reason I opened the bedroom door—­something I never do when the babies are asleep—­was because I needed a sight of their faces to reconcile me to my duty and take the resentment out of my heart ... and it did flow out, Reba,—­out into the stillness.  It is so dazzling white outside, I couldn’t bear my heart to be shrouded in gloom!”

“Poor Letty!” And Mrs. Larrabee furtively wiped away a tear.  “How long since you have heard?  I didn’t dare ask.”

“Not a word, not a line for nearly three months, and for the half-year before that it was nothing but a note, sometimes with a five-dollar bill enclosed.  David seems to think it the natural thing for me to look after his children; as if there could be no question of any life of my own.”

“You began wrong, Letty.  You were born a prop and you’ve been propping somebody ever since.”

“I’ve done nothing but my plain duty.  When my mother died there was my stepfather to nurse, but I was young and strong; I didn’t mind; and he wasn’t a burden long, poor father.  Then, after four years came the shock of David’s reckless marriage.  When he asked if he might bring that girl here until her time of trial was over, it seemed to me I could never endure it!  But there were only two of us left, David and I; I thought of mother and said yes.”