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“He lies ’mid the beasts of the stall,

Who is Maker and Lord of us all.

The winter wind blows cold and dreary;

See, he weeps, the world is weary,

Lord, have pity and mercy on me.

Come, come, come to the manger,

Kneel ye now to the newborn King;

Sing, sing, chorus of angels,

Stars of the morning, o’er Bethlehem sing!”

After that they moved on to the next house, and began the second verse.

“He leaves all his glory behind,

To be born and to die for mankind;

’Midst grateful beasts his cradle chooses,

Thankless man his love refuses.

Lord, have pity and mercy on me.”

It was bitterly cold. Philomène closed the window, and as she did so a mew caught her attention. In another moment she had the hall-door open, and a gust of icy air met her, as though the very wind were trying to force its way into the house for shelter. Upon the doorstep sat a white kitten, draggled and shivering. Philomène picked it up at once, shut the door, and ran upstairs to the schoolroom, all in a flutter of pity and excitement. Nurse looked up from her sewing, and stared at her aghast.