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already left the house to hitch up the cutter, his heavy coat bundling him against the chill of the winter’s morn.
    Mrs. Berdette let her eyes travel to the mantel clock. “We have plenty of time,” she responded.
    “But we don’t,” chafed Berta. “We need to be there early. They are choosing parts for the Christmas play this morning.”
    “Well, I’m sure they won’t make their choices before everyone gets there,” said Mrs. Berdette.
    “But they might ….” Berta’s words trailed off. She had never yet been chosen for Mary. This year— this year she was determined to convince her teacher that she was the most suitable one for the part.
    “I wanna be an angel,” put in Glenna cheerily.
    “You’d make a lovely angel,” said Mrs. Berdette, a smile tilting her lips.
    Berta cast a cross look at the two of them. Glenna, with her frills and bows, smiled up into the face of her mother. Berta tossed her short hair. She didn’t want frills and bows. She insisted on plain dresses. She didn’t even want lace on her shirtwaists. At first her mama had quietly argued, but at last she had conceded. Berta noticed that her mother seemed to take special delight in sewing pretty things for Glenna.
    Berta kicked her toe against the table leg. If they didn’t hurry she’d be sure to lose the part.
    By the time Mrs. Berdette had helped Glenna with her coat and muff and buttoned her own coat firmly about her slim form, Mr. Berdette was at the door with the cutter and team.
    Berta tried to get Glenna to settle quickly as she tucked the blankets closely about them to ward off the cold.
    The horses snorted and tossed their heads, puffs of frosty breath making little clouds that traveled up the front of their long faces.
    At last they were on their way. Berta ached to tell her papa to hurry the team—but she knew it wouldn’t work. He did not like to run the team in cold weather. He did not wish them to be sweaty when he tied them to the hitching rail and threw the coarse blankets over their broad backs. They had to wait in the cold until the service ended.
    “I bet they’ll be all chosen,” Berta grumbled to herself.
    But when they arrived at the little church, others were still pulling into the yard. Mothers and children were delivered to the steps while fathers or older sons drove on to tie the horses to the hitching rails.
    Berta didn’t even call greetings to her church friends. She was fearful that if she acknowledged them the teachers might notice their appearance and consider one of them for the cherished role.
    Heavy coats were hung on pegs by the door and children were bustled off to the small side room where parts were being decided.
    “Let’s all sit down,” said elderly Mrs. Twing. She had been doing the Christmas program just forever.
    The children obediently took seats. Wishing to be noticed, Berta made sure she was in the front row.
    “Let’s begin with the shepherds.”
    Three junior boys were chosen for the shepherds. Another three were picked for the wise men. Four preschoolers beamed as they were designated as sheep.
    “We’ll need an angel choir,” said Mrs. Twing, “but we’ll leave that for last. Anyone without a speaking part will be in the choir. It’s very important that we have a good choir.”
    Berta understood the words in spite of Mrs. Twing’s effort to hide the meaning. The angel choir would simply be the leftovers. Berta did not want that.
    “We need an innkeeper.”
    Mrs. Twing’s eyes traveled over the three older boys who sat on the very last row trying hard to look inconspicuous in spite of red faces and jabbing elbows.
    “Carl? How about being the innkeeper?”
    Carl reddened and was poked in the ribs from each side. He managed to nod.
    Berta watched. She had hoped with all her heart that Mrs. Twing would choose Carl for Joseph. Secretly she liked Carl.
    “The angel Gabriel,” said Mrs. Twing. “Luke—you would make a good Gabriel.”
    It was Luke’s turn to