And Felicity , much to our amazement , had taken his arm and marched off with him . The primness of her was indescribable , and was not at all ruffled by Dan 's hoot of derision . As for me , I was consumed by a secret and burning desire to ask the Story Girl if I might see HER home ; but I could not screw my courage to the sticking point . How I envied Peter his easy , insouciant manner ! I could not emulate him , so Dan and Felix and Cecily and the Story Girl and I all walked hand in hand , huddling a little closer together as we went through James Frewen 's woods -- for there are strange harps in a fir grove , and who shall say what fingers sweep them ? Mighty and sonorous was the music above our heads as the winds of the night stirred the great boughs tossing athwart the starlit sky . Perhaps it was that aeolian harmony which recalled to the Story Girl a legend of elder days . `` I read such a pretty story in one of Aunt Olivia 's books last night , '' she said . `` It was called ` The Christmas Harp . ' Would you like to hear it ? It seems to me it would just suit this part of the road . '' `` There is n't anything about -- about ghosts in it , is there ? '' said Cecily timidly . `` Oh , no , I would n't tell a ghost story here for anything . I 'd frighten myself too much . This story is about one of the shepherds who saw the angels on the first Christmas night . He was just a youth , and he loved music with all his heart , and he longed to be able to express the melody that was in his soul . But he could not ; he had a harp and he often tried to play on it ; but his clumsy fingers only made such discord that his companions laughed at him and mocked him , and called him a madman because he would not give it up , but would rather sit apart by himself , with his arms about his harp , looking up into the sky , while they gathered around their fire and told tales to wile away their long night vigils as they watched their sheep on the hills . But to him the thoughts that came out of the great silence were far sweeter than their mirth ; and he never gave up the hope , which sometimes left his lips as a prayer , that some day he might be able to express those thoughts in music to the tired , weary , forgetful world . On the first Christmas night he was out with his fellow shepherds on the hills .
It was chill and dark , and all , except him , were glad to gather around the XXXXX .
Cecily Frewen Peter day fire harps left night starlit vigils