The deformed little body was quite alive with Christmas now, and brought its glow with her, in her weak way.
Different from the others, he saw with a curious interest.

The day was more real to her than to them.

Not because, only, the care she had of everybody, and everybody had of her seemed to reach its culmination of kindly thought for the Christmas time; not because, as she sat talking slowly, stopping for breath, her great fear seemed to be that she would not have gifts enough to go round; but deeper than that,--the day was real to her.

As if it were actually true that the Master in whom she believed was freshly born into the world once a year, to waken all that was genial and noble and pure in the turbid, worn-out hearts; as if new honour and pride and love did flash into the realms below heaven with the breaking of Christmas morn.

It was a beautiful faith; he almost wished it were his.