Star over Bethlehem Read Online Free Page B

she’s dying at all.” Of course Mrs. Chubb had exaggerated, had sought deliberately for tragedy, because that was the way Mrs. Chubb saw life—in melodramatic terms. It made life less drab, easier to live. Mrs. Hargreaves understood so well …
    Other people came into Mrs. Hargreaves’ mind. Those women enjoying their fight at the butcher’s counter. Characters, all of them. Fun, really! Especially the big red-faced woman with her passion for justice. She really liked a good row!
    Why on earth, Mrs. Hargreaves wondered, had she minded the woman at the greengrocer’s calling her “Luv”? It was a kindly term.
    That bad-tempered bus conductress—why—her mind probed, came up with a solution. Her young man had stood her up the evening before. And so she hated everybody, hated her monotonous life, wanted to make other people feel her power—one could so easily feel like that if things went wrong …
    The kaleidoscope shook—changed. She was no longer looking at it—she was inside it— part of it …​
    The boat hooted. She sighed, moved, opened her eyes. They had come at last to Greenwich.
    Mrs. Hargreaves went back by train from Greenwich. The train, at this time of day, the lunch hour, was almost empty.
    But Mrs. Hargreaves wouldn’t have cared if it had been full …
    Because, for a brief space of time, she was at one with her fellow beings. She liked people . Almost—she loved them!
    It wouldn’t last, of course. She knew that. A complete change of character was not within the bounds of reality. But she was deeply, humbly, and comprehendingly grateful for what she had been given.
    She knew now what the thing that she had coveted was like. She knew the warmth of it, and the happiness—knew it, not from intelligent observation from without, but from within. From feeling it.
    And perhaps, knowing now just what it was, she could learn the beginning of the road to it …?
    She thought of the coat woven in the harmony of one piece. She had not been able to see the man’s face. But she thought she knew who He was …
    Already the warmth and the vision were fading. But she would not forget—she would never forget!
    â€œThank you,” said Mrs. Hargreaves, speaking from the depths of a grateful heart.
    She said it aloud in the empty railway carriage.
    The mate of the water bus was staring at the tickets in his hand.
    â€œWhere’s t’other one?” he asked.
    â€œWhatchermean?” said the Captain who was preparing to go ashore for lunch.
    â€œMust be someone on board still. Eight passengers there was. I counted them. And I’ve only got seven tickets here.”
    â€œNobody left on board. Look for yourself. One of ’em must have got off without your noticing ’im—either that or he walked on the water!”
    And the Captain laughed heartily at his own joke.

In the Cool of the Evening
    The church was fairly full. Evensong, nowadays, was always better attended than morning service.
    Mrs. Grierson and her husband knelt side by side in the fifth pew on the pulpit side. Mrs. Grierson knelt decorously, her elegant back curved. A conventional worshipper, one would have said, breathing a mild and temperate prayer.
    But there was nothing mild about Janet Grierson’s petition. It sped upwards into space on wings of fire.
    â€œGod, help him! Have mercy upon him. Have mercy upon me . Cure him, Lord. Thou hast all power. Have mercy—have mercy. Stretch out Thy hand. Open his mind. He’s such a sweet boy—so gentle—so innocent. Let him be healed. Let him be normal . Hear me, Lord. Hear me … Ask of me anything you like, but stretch out Thy hand and make him whole. Oh God, hear me. Hear me. With Thee all things are possible. My faith shall make him whole—I have faith—I believe. I believe ! Help me!”
    The people stood. Mrs. Grierson stood with them. Elegant,