The Rainbow

Ursula, accustomed to these pictures from her childhood,

hunted out their detail. She adored Fra Angelico's flowers and

light and angels, she liked the demons and enjoyed the hell. But

the representation of the encircled God, surrounded by all the

angels on high, suddenly bored her. The figure of the Most High

bored her, and roused her resentment. Was this the culmination

and the meaning of it all, this draped, null figure? The angels

were so lovely, and the light so beautiful. And only for this,

to surround such a banality for God!

She was dissatisfied, but not fit as yet to criticize. There

was yet so much to wonder over. Winter came, pine branches were

torn down in the snow, the green pine needles looked rich upon

the ground. There was the wonderful, starry, straight track of a

pheasant's footsteps across the snow imprinted so clear; there

was the lobbing mark of the rabbit, two holes abreast, two holes

following behind; the hare shoved deeper shafts, slanting, and

his two hind feet came down together and made one large pit; the

cat podded little holes, and birds made a lacy pattern.

Gradually there gathered the feeling of expectation.

Christmas was coming. In the shed, at nights, a secret candle

was burning, a sound of veiled voices was heard. The boys were

learning the old mystery play of St. George and Beelzebub. Twice

a week, by lamplight, there was choir practice in the church,

for the learning of old carols Brangwen wanted to hear. The

girls went to these practices. Everywhere was a sense of mystery

and rousedness. Everybody was preparing for something.

The time came near, the girls were decorating the church,

with cold fingers binding holly and fir and yew about the

pillars, till a new spirit was in the church, the stone broke

out into dark, rich leaf, the arches put forth their buds, and

cold flowers rose to blossom in the dim, mystic atmosphere.

Ursula must weave mistletoe over the door, and over the screen,

and hang a silver dove from a sprig of yew, till dusk came down,

and the church was like a grove.

In the cow-shed the boys were blacking their faces for a

dress-rehearsal; the turkey hung dead, with opened, speckled

wings, in the dairy. The time was come to make pies, in

readiness.

The expectation grew more tense. The star was risen into the

sky, the songs, the carols were ready to hail it. The star was

the sign in the sky. Earth too should give a sign. As evening

drew on, hearts beat fast with anticipation, hands were full of

ready gifts. There were the tremulously expectant words of the

church service, the night was past and the morning was come, the

gifts were given and received, joy and peace made a flapping of

wings in each heart, there was a great burst of carols, the

Peace of the World had dawned, strife had passed away, every

hand was linked in hand, every heart was singing.