“It's only a woman, Bill,” said the other patiently. He rose on his knees and looked over the back of the seat. “'Tain't straight. I won't stand it.” “We won't fight, Bill. We'll get out, if you say so.” The owner of the giggle was sitting up, as they glided back, Fat Bill leading. “I'll smash yer face,” the smaller man said to her. Bill turned and grabbed his collar. “You come along.” The woman stared stupidly after, till the swing door closed behind them. Then she put on her hat, decorated with too many disorderly flowers. Most of the sleepers were wakened. The wind outside had died in the night, and the church was quite still. A man in a dress suit and overcoat sat up in a pew beneath a window, and stared about him. His silk hat lay on the floor. He leaned over the back of the seat and spoke to his neighbor, a tramp in checked trousers. “How'd I g-get here?” he asked thickly. “Don' know, pardner,” said the tramp cheerfully. “Floated in, same as me?” He caught sight of the white tie and shirt front. “Maybe you'd give a cove a shiner to steady ye out They don't give breakfasts with lodgin's here.” The woman with the giggle and the broken-down flowers on her hat went out next; then a tall, thin man with a beard and a cough; the newsboy with his papers shuffled after, his shoes being too large; then a lame man--something seemed the matter with his hip; and a decent-looking woman, who wore a faded shawl over her head and kept it drawn across her face--she seemed ashamed to be there, as if it did not appear to her a respectable place; last, two boys, one of them small, but rather stunted than very young. He said: “'E ain't a king, is 'e, Jimmy? You don' know who 'e is, do you, Jimmy?” “Naw.” “Say, Jimmy, it was warm, warn't it?” ***** Dennis came down the aisle, put out the gas, and began to brush the cushions. The clock struck a quarter of six, and Father Harra came in. “Christmas, Dennis, Christmas! H'm--anybody been here? What did they think of it?” Dennis rubbed his nose sheepishly. “They wint to shleep, sor, an'--an' thin they wint out.” Father Harra looked up at the Christ figure and stroked his red chin. “I fancied they might see the point,” he said slowly. “Well, well, I hope they were warm.” The colored lights from the east oriel fell over the Christ figure and gave it a cheerful look; and from other windows blue and yellow and magical deep-sea tints floated in the air, as if those who had whispered unseen in the darkness were now wandering about, silent but curiously visible. “Yer riverince,” said Dennis, “will not be forgettin' me dollar.” THE SPIRAL STONE THE graveyard on the brow of the hill was white with snow. The marbles were white, the evergreens black. One tall spiral stone stood painfully near the centre. The little brown church outside the gates turned its face in the more comfortable direction of the village. Only three were out among the graves: “Ambrose Chillingworth, ætat 30, 1675;”