"Christmas is such a happy day at our house," confided one roundcheeked matronly looking woman turning to her companion, a society dame whose daintily gloved hands were free from encumbrance save a silver meshed purse and a costly fur muff. “We have seven little stockings to fill, you know, and you cannot imagine how we enjoy it. If there were twice seven I suppose we'd still find enough to fill them all and our pleasure would be doubled."

"Dear me, I don't see how you do it," drawled the society woman in shocked tones. "Our one child is a terrible expense, I cannot begin to have what I did before she came. One is quite enough. My husband My husband and I are going to New York tomorrow so nurse can have the delightful role of Santa Claus, at our house."

The car stopped and the woman with the holly got off and crossed the street. As she walked up the steps of her elegant home she wondered if there was another in all the land quite so alone as she, for

"No tiny feet came fretting to her door, No plaintive voices prattle or complain Save in her heart, where one cries out in vain

For life to wake and throb against her own."

"Christmas is such a time for memories," she sighed, entering the beautiful hall.

"Once I thought this was my heart's desire," she mused, her eyes glancing mechanically around as she sat down by the bright fire "Now I would give it all-for what I in my foolish youth cast aside as too commonplace. I was like that woman on the car who cares for nothing but self, but now I envy. little Mrs. Menton and wish I had seven little stockings to fill. Christ

mas is the children's day. Will John lend me his baby I wonder." Martha, the maid, came in bearing a dainty tray.

"I know you are cold, Miss Evelyn, so I made you a cup of hot chocolate as soon as I heard you come in," she said putting down. the tray with its exquisite chocolate service of Limoges china.

"Thank you, Martha, I am both cold and hungry. You are the most thoughtful girl in the world. Any mail?"

"Just this letter on the mantle," handing it to her. "I will soon have dinner ready now."

She bustled out, and Evelyn pushed away the tray and tore open her letter with an eagerness quite foreign to her usual slowly deliberate manner.

"From John. It is almost more than I expected, and certainly more than I deserve." than I deserve." Thus ruminating she read hurriedly on until she came to the end, while a great wave of joy flooded her heart, and transfigured her face.

"He consents. John's baby is coming to spend Christmas with me. John's little girl! Now I am happy. She comes in the morning. I wonder if she resembles John, this baby this child which might have been mine. Nonsense, how these little tantalizing 'might have beens' pursue me tonight."

After dinner she spent a busy evening planning and scheming for the pleasure of the little stranger. When finally the midnight clock warned her to retire, she went to bed to dream of a little head pillowed on her breast, and a little arm around her neck.

The shabby boy in the booth on the windy corner opened his eyes in wonder next morning when a large order for Christmas trees, holly, and

mistletoe came from the lady who had said she had no children.

The salespeople at the large store where Miss Evelyn did her shopping were equally surprised when she came rushing in, all excitement asking for dolls, Teddy-bears,

games, and all sorts of playthings.

When the train from the North came puffing into the station yard that morning it brought piles of early Christmas packages, but none quite so precious and dainty as the one which the gallant conductor bore so gaily on his arm-a tiny red-coated, dark blue-eyed girl, with auburn curls and an upturned diminutive nose which boasted a freckle or two.

Evelyn was there with outstretched arms hungry to claim the child who had John's eyes and hair and mouth.

"I knew you," laughed the little girl, patting Evelyn's cheek with her soft chubby hand. "You look like the picture papa showed me, I am going to stay one whole week. Are you glad?"

"So glad that I have to keep squeezing and kissing you to make sure you are not a dream child," said Evelyn, her arm tightening around the warm soft little body. "The car is taking us to my house now, little sunshine."

"Why, that's what papa calls me," regarding Evelyn with round pleased eyes. "You love me already, don't you? Now, there's Miss Brown-I've known her ever so long-and she don't love me, and I don't love her. Papa does."

"Does he?" said Evelyn, smiling rather sadly. "Come, we must get off now. This is my house."

"Do you live here all alone?" cried Marie, gazing around the lovely hall, and noting the wide stairs and shining banisters. "What a big, big house for just you.

Miss Evelyn, why don't you get a papa and some children?"

"Wouldn't you like to stay and be my little girl?" asked Evelyn.

"I am going to stay a week," said Marie, "and if I love you a whole lot then maybe papa will let me stay longer. Will you be glad if I do?"

She was delightfully irresistible as she prattled on in her sweet baby way, her little dimpled hand now making bold to pat Evelyn's cheek caressingly.

Together they went from room to room until Marie had explored every nook and corner to her heart's content, then they sat down to rest and hungrily wait for Martha's summons to the early dinner she was preparing in honor of the little guest.

"Your house is just beautiful," said Marie, clasping her tiny hands together, "but," here the baby face grew troubled and the little voice trembled, "I think it's a lonely house without any papa or playthings all over, or dirt anywhere."

"Dear little soul, you shall have some playthings, a playhouse in every room and turn everything upside down. Come, Sunshine, let us go and eat that good chicken of Martha's."

That night just before Marie dropped off to slumberland, she pulled Evelyn's head down and kissed her saying dreamily:

"I love you very much. You are lots nicer than Miss Brown. I'm going to tell papa so, and maybe he-"

"Hush," breathed Evelyn, refusing to hear more. "Go to sleep, darling, while I tell you about the Land of Nod,"

"Come cuddle your head on my shoulder, dear,

Your head like the golden-rod, And we will go sailing away from here To the beautiful Land of Nod.

To a world of fair weather we'll float off together

Where roses are always in bloom."

By this time Marie lay fast asleep, but Evelyn still sat with the little hand in hers for some time, her eyes fixed broodingly on the tiny features so strikingly like those of the man who had once been her lover. In those old days of poverty-happy days as she now looked back-a priceless love had been lain at her feet but she in her girlish folly and pride mocked at his daring to offer her nothing better than love in a cottage. When he could give her wealth and ease then she would perhaps listen, Evelyn told him, and with that she dismissed him.

He had gone away, very angry and bitter toward her, and after awhile she had heard of his marriage in a neighboring city. Meanwhile Evelyn's parents had died leaving her sufficient means to live in the comfort and luxury she had deemed so essential to happiness. That which she had most desired had been given her, but where was the joy and content which should have come with it?

When John's wife died leaving behind a wee baby girl, Evelyn had written and timidly offered to take the child; while in her heart she prayed that God would give her back the jewel she had thrown away.

John had sent her back a cool courteous refusal in a few terse hurried lines, man-like, unable to read between the lines of her poor little letter. His love was dead, while Evelyn's, alas, was just awakening to a sense of its bitter loss.

After a silence of four years, she had again written, asking that the

little one might come to spend the Christmas week, and John had graciously consented.

"I wouldn't ask for anything more, if I could but keep her," she whispered prayerfully, still looking wistfully at the sleeping child. “I have lost him, but to have his child would be a great recompense. O Father, is it asking too much?”

Christmas eve found Evelyn and little Marie busily engaged in decorating the beautiful Christmas tree which was so tall that it touched the parlor ceiling.

Suddenly the sharp peal of the door-bell startled them both, espe、 cially Marie who ran and hid her curly head against Evelyn's skirt, whispering excitedly:

"It's Santa Claus. Put me to bed quick or he will go away."

The next moment a tail middleaged man with dark blue eyes and hair and beard of auburn hue stood in the hall peering in upon the pretty parlor scene.

"Looks like Christmas here, Sunshine," he smiled, and next thing Marie, with a little shriek of delight, ran to his open arms.

"Dearest, dearest, we are so glad you've come," she cried, softly patting his cheek. "Now we can hang up your stocking, too."

"No, no, papa cannot stay," putting her down and advancing to take Evelyn's timidly proffered hand in a firm grip. "How well you are looking, Miss Afton, no need to ask if fortune has smiled on you."

"Won't you sit down?" she asked rather formally, though the sudden bright flush in her cheeks belied the indifference she sought to as

sume.

"No, thank you, I just dropped in for a minute to see my baby," he answered gravely. "A party of us came to the city tonight to hear

'Madam Butterfly.' The others are at the hotel and I promised to join them there in time for dinner. Miss Brown sent her love to you, baby."

The child's laughing face grew sober instantly, and she turned quickly away from her father.

"Don't want her love," she pouted, tears in her eyes, "I like Evelyn best. She's just lovely. She likes little girls."

"Well," began her father, looking annoyed and uncomfortable, "so does Miss Brown."

"she

"No," this emphatically, says I'm a nuisance, and that children ought never to be borr. Papa, do stay to dinner."

"Yes, I wish you could," said Evelyn politely, "though I fear we would be dreadfully dull in comparison with your gay crowd at the hotel."

"I hate crowds," grumbled McLain. The little round table set for two in the dinning-room beyond as seen through the parted curtains certainly looked tempting and restful.

"It has been a long while since you and I ate together, Evelyn," he suddenly remarked, and there was something in his voice and the look he gave her which made Evelyn turn pale, though she met his searching eye bravely. "I wish I could stay, but no, it is impossible."

"Papa, we are going to have the jolliest Christmas," said Marie as they followed him out to the halldoor, "Evelyn and I We have hung up our stockings. You come back, then you will have one, too."

"Sorry, little girl, but I simply can't get away tomorrow."

"Thank you so much for lending me this sweet bit of sunshine," said Evelyn, putting her arm lovingly around the clinging child. "I wish I could keep her awhile."

"I am going to Europe soon,"

McLain said hurriedly. "Perhaps I shall be glad to leave my little girl with you then."

"I shall be delighted," responded Evelyn, smiling faintly, for in spite of the joy at the prospect, there was a bitter heavy ache at her heart.

"Evelyn, I am indeed glad to find you so happy and contented," said John still lingering, his deep blue eyes fixed on her and the child as though loathe to leave them." I suppose this little thing here," squeezing Marie's chubby hand, "is all that is needed to make this little home ideal. Tell me, why do not all women like children?"

"Every true woman does,' responded Evelyn warmly. "The woman who doesn't care for children and seeks to avoid them is unnatural and lacks the noblest and happiest elements of true womanhood, I take it."

"I have been unfortunate," confessed McLain rather bitterly. "Marie's mother rebelled fiercely against maternity, and when it came it cost her her life. Beulah-Miss Brown -made a great deal of my baby at first, but now she does not hesitate to show her dislike for the poor child. The world needs such women as you, Evelyn, with the mother love for every child, to rear these priceless little souls-yet you have passed it by. Ah, well, women are hard to understand. I must go. Have a merry Christmas, children."

With a parting kiss to Marie, and a grave smile for them both, he went out into the cold, stormy night.

"Papa is not very happy tonight," sighed the little girl, quick to discover her father's mood. "I am so sorry. I would cry if Christmas

wasn't so near."

"No, no, darling, don't cry," said Evelyn taking her in her arms and

kissing her while her own eyes grew

dim.

"I wish he had stayed away," she thought, miserably. "He has spoilt our Christmas. He will never be happy with that woman and yet is stupid enough to go and marry her. O why do we never get our heart's desire ?"

It snowed heavily during the night and Christmas morn came clothed in the white mantle which to most of us (so far as the weather is concerned) makes of it a perfect Christmas.

Evelyn bravely entered into the spirit of the day, and just at dawn, hand in hand with Marie, they stole down stairs in their nightdresses to see what Santa Claus had put in their stockings.

They found them hanging in front of the fire-place bulging out with parcels, candies and fruit, while in the toe of Marie's was a gold dollar. Down on the stairs. they sat, two inquisitive excited children, pulling off wrappings from boxes, tasting sweetmeats, and whispering joyously as each new treasure came to view.

In after years Marie stoutly maintained that this was the very best Christmas she ever had. Evelyn turned herself into a little twin sister for the day, wearing short skirts, and hair in a long braid down her back.

ว

It would take too long to tell of all they did in that one short day, but when night came Marie, sleepy and tired, was glad to rest on Evelyn's lap in front of the glowing fire.

"I love you as a mamma best. Why can't you be my true mamma instead of Miss Brown? Why does papa like her better than you?"

"Perhaps she is younger and prettier," suggested Evelyn with a

forced smile. "Don't you think that is the reason?”

"I guess she is prettier," confessed Marie, with the blunt candor so characteristic of children. “But you are kinder looking, and your smile is sweeter. Not anybody loves me like you do 'cepting papa."

"Listen, the door bell is ringing. Martha is out so I must go answer it. Who can it be?"

"I guess it's papa," cried Marie, skipping along by her side.

It was her father. He looked pale and worried as though laboring under some great strain.

"I have come back," he said gravely, "because I have a Christmas gift to offer which I think will bring you both great joy. Evelyn, will you mother my little girl? I want to give her to you,-not for a time but for always. And you, Marie, do you want her for your

dear mamma?"

Marie answered with a glad, little cry, throwing her arms about Evelyn and kissing her again and again.

"You are very generous," said Evelyn, turning a pale smiling face to him. "I will try to be all that a mother should, John. Are yougoing away?"

"That depends. Evelyn dear, I have given you my baby,-now what is to become of me?"

"Why, John,-Miss Brown,— what about her?" she stared at him

wonderingly, then the look in his eyes made her flush rosily and hide her happy face against Marie's curly head.

"Never mind her. It is you-you whom I want. Evelyn, are you going to send me away again?"

"John, I have always loved you," she confessed, her radiant face now lifted close to his. "From the day I sent you away, to call you back has been my heart's desire."