Pranjalal

One Christmas Eve, after the carols were sung and the stockings were hung, a sudden, fierce winter storm hit. The winds howled, and the power flickered and died, plunging the living room into deep shadow. The tree, usually a beacon of light, went completely dark. The other ornaments panicked. "I can't see my own reflection!" cried a gilded angel. "My sparkle is useless!" wailed Sir Glisten. "We're just lumps of glass and thread now!" In the silence, little Lily, who was only six, woke up. She was afraid of the dark and started to whimper. Her father, Mr. Miller, came in and picked her up, rocking her gently. "It's alright, sweetie," he whispered. "The lights are just taking a nap. But look." He walked over to the dark tree. In the pitch blackness, nothing could be seen—except for one tiny, faint, warm glow. It wasn't a glitter, but a soft, steady luminescence that seemed to come from within the object itself. Stake id=Pranjalal

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Pranjalal

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