human
Caller Herrin' had been delightfully sung, and four tiny girls (combined height some twelve feet) had charmed us with the pretty innocence of their flower carol. Also a dramatic version of
gpt
The Holly Tree Inn had been played in a fashion that DICKENS would not have disapproved. Now there was a murmur of expectation among the audience; soon the crystal-clear strains of
human
He shall feed His flock sounded through the room, and as they lingered and died away the curtain rose for the masque,
gpt
The Holy Night. At the back of the stage was a lowly shed, its closed door guarded by two angelic figures clothed in pure white draperies and with wings that sparkled with a silver sheen. High above, to the left of the shed, a third angel soared, and these three watched and waited, intent and motionless, their hands crossed over their breasts. In front of them lay three shepherds, and amongst them frisked a white and woolly little lamb (Douglas, the Vicar's son), and further to the left we recognised little Kit Price as a raven in sleek black satin, and our John only partially disguised as a highly-coloured and effective cock, strutting and flapping and pecking and scraping to his heart's content, and admitted to the cast in spite of the stage directions, which declare that