"You may have had a happy time, but I have not been in it; you
have given gifts to one another, but I have had just one"--and she
held up the bunch of violets. "This is a gift of love from little lame
Joe, in answer to his prayer, and in pity for my hungry heart."
There was silence in the room for a moment, and then her father
answered: "It seems to me, daughter, that when you get right down to a
personal application, what you believe in after all is a 'white
birthday'."
The words went through her like an electric shock, and with a start
she awoke, and sat upright in her chair; and, lo, it was all a dream!
Marcia looked around the room, shook herself a little, stirred the
fire, and put on fresh coal. She laughed at the remembrance of her
dream, and its absurdity! How glad she was that it was only a dream!
But was it only a dream? Was it not a reality? Was not this the way
she had kept the Lord's birthday? When she had opened her Christmas
treasure, how much had been given Him and for love of Him? How large a
place had she given Him in the season's activity? Had she ever made
room for Him as the central figure of it all; or had he been crowded
out, and His rightful place given to Santa Claus and the world's
merry-making?
In the light of the Spirit she saw that the Star of Bethlehem always
leads to the cross of Calvary.
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