The stars were fading out, and they had started to return. On their side of
the street was the post-office, and opposite them was the saloon, with its
gaudy gilt sign, "Tim's Place." Little Phil was behind Gertrude; and as
they passed that building,--it was home to him--his hand just touched her
sleeve.
"Do you think," he whispered, and she could see the pitiful quiver of his
chin as he spoke--"do you suppose--we could sing one for m' father?"
Tears filled Gertrude's eyes; and had she not known boys so well, she would
have stooped and caught him in her arms.
"Why, surely," she answered. "Which one do you think he would like best?"
Phil had shrunk behind her, and beneath the gaze of the other boys his eyes
were those of a little hunted animal at bay. "Bethlehem," he said, huskily.
And when Harry had struck the tuning-fork, they began to sing together,--
"O little town of Bethlehem,
How still we see thee lie!
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep
The silent stars go by."
The twenty-fourth had been a good day for business in Tim Shartow's place.
He had had venison for free lunch; two mandolin and guitar players had been
there all the evening; and there was more than two hundred dollars in the
till.
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