A brook went with us part of the way , singing to us through the dark -- a gay , irresponsible vagabond of valley and wilderness . Felicity and Peter walked not with us . Peter 's cup must surely have brimmed over that Christmas night . When we left the Marr house , he had boldly said to Felicity , `` May I see you home ? '' 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 XXXXX all his heart , and he longed to be able to express the melody that was in his soul .
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