“I do think waiting for a steamer is the horridest, pokiest performance in the world! You never know when they’re coming, no matter how much they sight them and signal them and wireless them!”

Mrs. Allen was not pettish, and she spoke half laughingly, but she was wearied with her long wait for the Mauretania, in which she expected her daughter, Nan, and, incidentally, Mr. Fairfield and Patty.

“There, there, my dear,” said her husband, soothingly, “I think it will soon arrive now.”

“I think so, too,” declared Kenneth Harper, who was looking down the river through field-glasses. “I’m just sure I see that whale of a boat in the dim distance, and I think I see Patty’s yellow head sticking over the bow.”

“Do you?” cried Mrs. Allen eagerly; “do you see Nan?”

“I’m not positive that I do, but we soon shall know, for that’s surely the Mauretania.”

It surely was, and though the last quarter hour of waiting seemed longer than all the rest, at last the big ship was in front of them, and swinging around in midstream. They could see the Fairfields clearly now, but not being within hearing distance, they could only express their welcome by frantic wavings of hands, handkerchiefs, and flags. But at last the gangplank was put in place, and at last the Fairfields crossed it, and then an enthusiastic and somewhat incoherent scene of reunion followed.

Beside Mr. and Mrs. Allen and Kenneth Harper, Roger and Elise Farrington were there to meet the home-comers, and the young people seized on Patty as if they would never let her go again.

“My! but you’ve grown!” said Kenneth, looking at her admiringly; “I mean you’re grown-up looking, older, you know.”

“I’m only a year older,” returned Patty, laughing, “and you’re that, yourself!”

“Why, so I am. But you’ve changed somehow,—I don’t know just how.”

Honest Kenneth looked so puzzled that Elise laughed at him and said:

“Nonsense, Ken, it’s her clothes. She has a foreign effect, but it will soon wear off in New York. I am glad to see you again, Patty; we didn’t think it would be so long when we parted in Paris last Spring.”

“No, indeed; and I’m glad to be home again, though I have had a terribly good time. Now, I suppose we must see about our luggage.”

“Yes,” said Roger, “you’ll be sorry you brought so many fine clothes when you have to pay duty on them.”

“Well, duty first, and pleasure afterward,” said Kenneth. “Come on, Patty, I’ll help you.”

“Oh, dear,” said Mrs. Allen, “must we wait for all this custom-house botheration? I’m so tired of waiting.”

“No, you needn’t,” said Mr. Fairfield, kindly. “You and Nan and Mr. Allen jump in a taxicab and go home. I’ll keep Patty with me, and any other of the young people who care to stay, and we’ll settle matters here in short order.”

The young people all cared to stay, and though they had to wait some time, when at last they did get a customs inspector he proved to be both courteous and expeditious.

“Oh, don’t spoil my best hat!” cried Patty, in dismay, as he laid thoughtless hands on a befeathered creation.

“That I won’t, ma’am,” was the hearty response, and the hat was laid back in its box as carefully as an infant in its cradle. “I have ladies in my own family, ma’am, and I know just how you feel about it.”

“I’m perfectly willing to declare all my dutiable goods,” went on Patty, “but I do hate to have my nice things all tumbled up.”

“Quite right, ma’am, quite right,” amiably agreed the inspector, who had fallen a victim to Patty’s pretty face and bright smiles.

“Well, you did get through easily, Patty,” said Elise, after it was over and the trunks despatched by express. “When we came home, mother was half a day fussing over customs.”

“It’s Patty’s winning ways as does it,” said Kenneth. “She hypnotised that fat inspector with a mere glance of her eye.”

“Nonsense!” said Patty, laughing; “it’s an easy trick. They’re always nice and kind if you jolly them a little bit.”

“Jolly me,” said Kenneth, “and see how nice and kind I’ll be.”

“You’re kind enough as you are,” returned Patty. “If you were any kinder, I’d be overwhelmed with obligations. But how are we all going to get into this taxicab? Five into one won’t go.”

“That’s easy,” said Roger. “I’ll perch outside with the chauffeur.”

“No, let me,” said Kenneth.

But after a good-natured controversy, Roger won the day, and climbed into the front seat. Mr. Fairfield, Kenneth, and the two girls settled themselves inside, and off they started for the Fairfields’ home in Seventy-second street.

“I don’t see much change in the old town,” remarked Patty, as they neared the Flatiron.

“You don’t, eh?” observed Kenneth. “Well, there’s the Metropolitan tower,—I guess you’ll say that’s pretty fine, if you have seen the Campanile in Venice.”

“But I didn’t,” returned Patty. “I was too late for the old one and too soon for the new. But is this a Campanile, father? What is a Campanile, pure and simple?”

“A Campanile ought always to be pure and simple, of line,” said Mr. Fairfield; “but if you mean what is it specifically, it’s a bell tower. Listen, you’ll hear the quarter-hour now.”

“Oh, what lovely chimes!” cried Patty. “Let’s move, father, and take a house beneath the shadow of a great clock.”

“I’ve moved enough for a while, my child; if I once get seated at my own fireside, I shall stay there.”

“How Christmassy things look,” went on Patty, gazing out of the cab window. “It’s only the middle of December, but the streets are crowded and there are holly wreaths in some of the windows.”

“You won’t have to buy many Christmas presents, will you, Patty?” said Elise. “I suppose you brought home enough Italian trinkets to supply all your friends.”

“Yes, we did,” laughed Patty. “I daresay my friends will get tired of busts of Dante, and models of the Forum.”

“Don’t give those to me. If you have a Roman scarf nobody else wants, I’ll thank you kindly.”

“All right, Elise; I’ll remember that. And if I haven’t, I daresay I can buy one in the New York shops.”

“Wicked girl! Don’t attempt any such deception on your tried and true friend. Oh, Patty, do you remember the day we got lost in Paris?”

And then the two girls plunged into a flood of reminiscences that lasted all the way home.

“Come in? of course we’ll come in!” said Roger, as he assisted them from the cab, and Patty graciously invited him. “That’s what we’re here for! We’re all coming in, and if we’re heartily urged, we may stay to dinner.”

In reality, Mrs. Allen, who was temporarily hostess in her daughter’s house, had invited Kenneth and the two Farringtons to dine, in order to make a gay home-coming for Patty.

Very cosy and attractive the house looked, as, after more than a year’s absence, Patty once again stepped inside. It had been closed while Mr. and Mrs. Fairfield were away, but a few days before their return, Mrs. Allen, Nan’s mother, had come over from Philadelphia and opened the house and made it cheery and livable. A bright fire glowed in the library, flowers were all about, and holly-wreaths hung in the windows.

“It’s good to be home again,” said Patty, as she sank into an easy-chair and threw aside her furs.

“It’s good to have you here,” responded Elise. “I’ve missed you terribly.”

“Me, too,” said Roger, while Kenneth added, “So say we all of us.”

Always a favourite, wherever she went, Patty was specially beloved by her young friends in New York, and so the reunion was a happy one to all concerned.

Before dinner was announced, Patty flew up to her own room to change her travelling costume for a pretty little house-dress.

“Come on, Elise,” she said, and soon the two girls were cosily chatting in Patty’s dressing-room.

“You look so different with your hair done up,” said Elise. “Weren’t you sorry to give up hair-ribbons?”

“Yes, I was; I hate to feel grown-up. Just think, I’ll be nineteen next May.”

“Well, May’s a long way off yet. It’s only December now. What are you going to do on Christmas, Patty?”

“I don’t know. Nan hasn’t planned yet. She waited to see her mother first. But I know Mrs. Allen will invite us to Philadelphia to spend Christmas with her.”

“You don’t want to go, do you? Can’t you spend Christmas with me, instead?”

“Oh, I’d love to, Elise! It would be lots more fun. We’ll ask father to-night. How are all the girls?”

“They’re all well, and crazy to see you. Hilda is making you the loveliest Christmas present you ever saw. But, of course, I promised not to tell you about it.”

“No, don’t tell me; I’d rather be surprised. Come on, I’m ready; let’s go down and talk to the boys.”

Patty had done up her pretty hair in the prevailing fashion of the day; but though the soft braids encircled her head, many little golden curls escaped and made a soft outline round her face. Her frock, of pale rose colour, had a collarless lace yoke, and was very becoming.

“You can wear any colour, Patty,” declared Elise. “Of course, blue is yours, by right, but you’re dear in that pinky thing.”

“Ah, sweet chub, I hoped I should be dear to thee in any old thing,” remarked Patty, as, slipping her arm through that of Elise, the two girls went downstairs.

“Ha, Patty resplendent!” exclaimed Roger, as they entered the library. “Don’t you dare to be a grown-up young lady, Patty Fairfield, or I shall cut your acquaintance.”

“Not I! Don’t be alarmed, Roger. I am still childlike and bland.”

“Your cousin Ethelyn is going to make her début next week. I have a bid to the ceremonies.”

“Yes, so have I. Well, let her ‘come out,’ if she likes. I prefer to ‘stay in’ for another year, anyway.”

“So do I,” said Elise. “Mother says I ought to come out next winter, but I’m not bothering about it yet.”

“Let’s have a good time this winter, then,” said Kenneth, “while we’re all children. If you girls come out next winter, you’ll be so gay with dances and parties, I can’t play with you at all.”

“All right,” agreed Patty. “But have you time to play, yourself, Ken? I thought you were fearfully busy absorbing the laws of the United States.”

“Oh, I do have to hammer at that all day, and some evenings, too. But it’s an unwritten law that a fellow must have some fun; so I’ll take an afternoon off now and then, to come round and tease you girls.”

Then dinner was announced and, following their elders, the young people went out to the dining-room.

“Oh, how pretty!” cried Patty, as she saw the table, for the decoration, though simple, was most effective.

Along the centre of the white cloth, lay a long bed of holly leaves, on which the word “Welcome” was outlined in holly berries.

There were no other flowers, and the glossy green and vivid scarlet made a charming centrepiece, surrounded, as it was, by dainty silver, glass, and china.

“It’s good to be here once more,” said Nan, as she took her place at the head of her own table.

“Right you are,” said Mr. Fairfield, as he sat opposite her. “Mother Allen, it was kind of you to arrange this hearty Welcome Home for us.”

“It doesn’t half express my joy at having you here again,” said Mrs. Allen, as she looked affectionately at her daughter.

Then the conversation turned upon Christmas and Christmas plans.

“I must have Nan with me at Christmas,” said Mrs. Allen. “And I shall count on Fred, also, of course. Patty, dear, I want you, too, if you care to come; but–”

“Oh, Mrs. Allen,” broke in Elise, “divide the family with me, won’t you? If you have Mr. and Mrs. Fairfield, won’t you let me take Patty?”

As Elise had hinted this to Mrs. Allen while they were at the steamer dock waiting for Patty, the good lady was not greatly surprised. And she knew that Patty would prefer to be in New York with her young friends, rather than in Philadelphia.

So it was settled that Patty should spend Christmas with Elise, much to the joy of both girls, and also to the satisfaction of the two boys.

“We’ll have a gay old time,” said Roger. “We’ll have a tree and a dance and a boar’s head,—whatever that thing is,—I never did know.”

“I don’t know either,” confessed Patty; “but we’ll find out. For we must have all the modern improvements.”

“I shouldn’t call a boar’s head a modern improvement,” said Mr. Fairfield, smiling.

“But ours will be,” said saucy Patty, “for it will be such an improvement on the sort they used to have. And we’ll have carols and waits–”

“What are waits?” said Elise.

“Why, waits,” said Patty, “don’t you know what waits are? Why, they’re just waits.”

“Oh, yes,” said Elise, “now I understand perfectly! You explain things so clearly, Patty!”

“Yes, doesn’t she!” agreed Kenneth. “Never mind, Elise, I’ll be a wait and show you.”

“Do,” said Elise, “I’d much rather see than be one. Just think, Patty, Christmas is only ten days off! Can you be ready?”

“Oh, yes,” said Patty, smiling. “Why, I could get ready for two Christmases in ten days.”

“Wonderful girl!” commented Roger. “I thought ladies were always behind time with their Christmas preparations. I thought they always said, ‘It doesn’t seem possible Christmas is so near!’ and things like that.”

“I haven’t half my presents ready,” said Kenneth, in an exaggerated feminine voice. “I haven’t finished that pink pincushion for Sadie, nor the blue bedroom slippers for Bella.”

Roger took the cue.

“Nor I,” he said, also mimicking a fussy, womanish manner. “But I never get into the spirit of the thing until near Christmas Day. Then I run round and try to do everything at once.”

“Do you tie up your presents in tissue paper and holly-ribbon?” asked Kenneth, turning to Roger as if in earnest.

“Oh, yes; and I stick on those foolish little seals, and holly tags. Anything to make it fussy and fluttery.”

“Gracious,” said Patty, “that reminds me. I suppose I must get that holly ribbon and tissue paper flummery. I forgot all about it. What do they use this year, Elise? White tissue paper?”

“No, red. It’s so nice and cheery.”

“Yes,” said Roger. “Most Christmas presents need a cheery paper. It counteracts the depressing effect of an unwelcome gift.”

“Don’t pay any attention to him,” said Elise, “he’s putting on airs. He thinks it’s funny to talk like that, but you just ought to see him on Christmas! He simply adores his presents, and fairly gloats over every one!”

“Sure I do!” said Roger, heartily. “But when you get a purple necktie, or a hand-crocheted watch-chain, it’s nice to have a cheery red paper round it.”

“Well, I have a lovely present for you,” said Patty, “but I shall take the precaution of wrapping it in red paper.”

CHAPTER II
AN ADVANCE CHRISTMAS GIFT

The ten days before Christmas flew by like Bandersnatches. Patty had a long list of friends to whom she wanted to give presents, and though she had brought home a lot of what Kenneth called “foreign junk,” she had no notion of giving it all away.

Of course, the lovely fans, beads, and scarves she brought made lovely gifts for the girls, and the little curios and souvenirs were all right for the boys, but there were so many friends, and her relatives beside, that she soon realised she would have little left for herself. And, though unselfish, she did want to retain some mementos of her foreign trip.

So shopping was necessary, and nearly every day she went with Nan or Elise to buy the Christmas wares that the city shops displayed.

“And I do think,” she said, “that things are just as pretty and just as cheap here as over there.”

“Some things,” agreed Nan.

“Yes; I mean just the regular wares. Of course, for Roman silks and Florentine mosaics it’s better to shop where they grow. What’s father going to give me, Nan?”

“Inquisitive creature! I shouldn’t tell you if I knew, but as I don’t know, and he doesn’t either, I may as well tell you that he’d be glad of a hint. What would you like?”

“Honestly, I don’t know of a thing! Isn’t it awful to have everything you want?”

“You’re a contented little girl, Patty. And that’s a noble trait, I admit. But just at Christmas time it’s trying. Now, if you only wanted a watch, or a diamond ring, or some trifle like that, I’d be glad to give your father a hint.”

“Thank you, stepmamma,” said Patty, smiling; “but I have a watch, and I’m too young for diamonds. I can’t help it if I’m amply supplied with this world’s goods. And think of the lots of gifts I’ll get, anyway! Perhaps father’d better just give me the money and let me put it in the bank against a rainy day.”

“Why, Patty, you’re not getting mercenary, I hope! What do you want of money in the bank?”

Patty looked earnest.

“No, I don’t think I’m mercenary,” she said, slowly, “but, Nan, you never know what may happen. Suppose father should lose all his money.”

“Nonsense! he can’t do that. It’s most carefully invested, and you know, Patty, he thinks of retiring from business in a year or two more.”

“I know it,” said Patty, with a little sigh. “I know we’re rich. Not wealthy, like the Farringtons, but plenty rich enough. Only, you often hear of rich men losing their money, and sometimes I think I ought to save up some.”

“Goosie!” said Nan, smiling fondly at her; “don’t bother your curly head about such things before it’s necessary.”

“All right, then, I won’t,” said Patty, shaking the curly head and smiling back.

That afternoon she went to see Clementine Morse. Clementine had called one day when Patty was not at home, so this was the first time the girls had met since Patty’s return.

The maid asked Patty to go right up to Clementine’s own room, and there Patty found her friend surrounded by what looked like a whirlwind of rainbow-coloured rags.

On tables, chairs, and even on the floor, were scraps and bits of silks, satins, ribbons, and laces, and in a low chair sat Clementine, sewing rapidly, as if for dear life.

But at sight of Patty, she jumped up, upsetting her work-basket, and flew to greet her guest.

“You dear thing!” she cried, as she embraced her; “I was so sorry not to see you when I called. I should have come again, but I’m so rushed with Christmas work, that I can’t go anywhere until Christmas is over. Do take off your things and sit down, and don’t mind if I go on sewing, will you? I can talk just as well, you know.”

“Apparently you can!” said Patty, laughing, for as she chatted, Clementine had already resumed her work, and her fingers flew nimbly along the satin seams. “What are you doing?”

“Dressing dolls,” said Clementine, as she threaded her needle; “and I’ve forty-five still to do,—but their underclothing is done, so it’s only a matter of frocks, and some hats. Did you have a good time in Europe?”

Clementine talked very fast, apparently to keep time with her flying fingers, and as Patty picked up a lot of dry goods in order that she might occupy the chair they were in, her hostess rattled on.

“How did you like Venice? Was it lovely by moonlight? Oh, would you put this scarlet velvet on the spangled lace,—or save it for this white chiffon?”

“Clementine! do keep still a minute!” cried Patty; “you’ll drive me frantic! What are you doing with all these dolls?”

“Dressing them. How did you like Paris? Was it very gay? And was London smoky,—foggy, I mean?”

“Yes; everything was gay or smoky or lovely by moonlight, or just what it ought to be. Now tell me why you dress four hundred million dolls all at once.”

“Oh, they’re for the Sunshine Babies. Was Naples very dirty? How did you like–”

“Clementine, you leave the map of Europe alone. I’m talking now! What are Sunshine Babies?”

“Why, the babies that the Sunshine Society gives a Christmas to. And there’s oceans of babies, and they all want dolls,—I guess the boys must like dolls, too, they want so many. And, oh, Patty, they’re the dearest little things,—the babies, I mean,—and I just love to dress dolls for them. I’d rather do it than to make presents for my rich friends.”

Suddenly Patty felt a great wave of self-compunction. She had planned and prepared gifts for all her friends, and for most of her relatives, but for the poor she had done nothing! To charity she had given no thought! And at Christmas, when all the world should feel the spirit of good will to men, she had utterly neglected to remember those less fortunate than herself.

“What’s the matter?” said Clementine, dismayed by Patty’s expression of remorse.

“I’m a pig!” said Patty; “there’s no other word for such a horrid thing as I am! Why, Clementine, I’ve made presents for nearly everybody I know, and I haven’t done a thing for charity! Did you ever know such an ungrateful wretch?”

“Oh, it isn’t too late, yet,” said Clementine, not quite understanding why Patty was so serious about it; “here, help me sew these.”

She tossed her some tiny satin sleeves, already cut and basted, and offered a furnished work-basket.

“’Deed I will!” said Patty, and in a few moments she too was sewing, as deftly, if not quite so rapidly, as Clementine.

“You see, Clem,” she went on, “I’ve been so busy ever since I came home, that I simply forgot the poor people. And now it’s too late.”

“It’s too late to make things,” agreed Clementine, “but not too late to buy them.”

“But I’ve spent all my Christmas money,” said Patty, contritely. “Father gives me a liberal allowance, and then extra, for Christmas money. And it’s just about all gone, and I hate to ask him for more.”

“Well, never mind, Patsy, you can make up for it next year. And if you help me dress these dolls, that will square up your conscience.”

“No, it won’t. But I’ll find a way to do something, somehow. Are these Sunshine people all babies?”

“Oh, no; the society helps all sorts of poor people, children and grown-ups too. Mother is one of the directors, and we do a lot of this doll-dressing every year.”

“Well, I’ll help you a while this afternoon, but I won’t have another chance. You see just about every moment is taken up from now till Christmas.”

“You’re going to the Farringtons’, aren’t you?”

“Yes, for three or four days, while Nan and father are in Philadelphia at Nan’s mother’s. You’re coming to the Christmas Eve dance, of course?”

“Yes, indeed. It’s to be a lovely party. The Farringtons always have such beautiful entertainments. Now, Patty, do tell me about your trip.”

So Patty told many tales of her stay in Paris and in England, and of her pleasure trip through Italy, and as she talked, her fingers flew, and she had soon completed three doll dresses, that were quite as pretty and well-made as Clementine’s.

“Now, I must go,” she said, at last. “I’m glad to have been of a little help, and next year I’ll help you a lot. Though, I suppose your Sunshine Babies could have dolls when it isn’t Christmas.”

“Oh, yes; these are for their Tree, you know.”

“Well, Clem, if I should have some money left me unexpectedly, is it too late to buy some toys for the Tree?”

“I don’t know,” said Clementine, “but we can ask mother. She’ll know.”

They found Mrs. Morse in her sitting-room, tying up parcels and addressing them.

Patty soon discovered that these were all charitable gifts, and not presents to Mrs. Morse’s own friends.

“I’m so glad I came here to-day,” she said, after the welcoming greetings were over, “for it has roused my charitable instincts. I am quite sure, Mrs. Morse, I can send some toys for your society’s tree, if you want them.”

“Want them? Indeed we do! Why, Patty, there are forty little boys who want drums or trumpets and we can only give them candy and an orange. It’s harder than you’d think to get subscriptions to our funds at Christmas time, and though we’ve dolls enough, we do so want toys for the boys.”

“Well, I’ll send you some, Mrs. Morse. I’ll send them to-morrow. Do you care what they are?”

“No, indeed. Drums, or balls, or tin carts,—anything that a boy-child can play with.”

“Well, you may depend on me for the forty,” said Patty, smiling, for she had formed a sudden, secret resolve.

“Why, Patty, dear, how kind of you! I am so glad, for those children were on my mind, and I’ve already asked every one I know to give to our fund. You are a generous little girl, and I know it will gladden your own heart as well as the children’s.”

Patty ran away, and all the way home her heart was full of her project.

“If he will only consent,” she thought. “If not, I don’t know how I shall keep my promise. Oh, well, I know I can coax him to say yes.”

After dinner that evening, Patty put her plan into action.

“Father Fairfield,” she said, “what are you going to give me for a Christmas gift?”

“Well, Pattykins, that’s not considered a correct question in polite society.”

“Then let’s be impolite, just for this once. Do tell me, daddy.”

“You embarrass me exceedingly, young lady,” said Mr. Fairfield, smiling at her, “for, to tell you the truth, I haven’t bought you anything.”

“Oh, I’m so glad!” exclaimed Patty, “for, father, I want to ask you a great favour. Won’t you give me the money instead, and let me spend it as I like?”

“That would be a funny Christmas gift. I thought you liked some pretty trinket, tied up in holly paper and red ribbons and Santa Claus seals, and served to you on a silver salver.”

“Well, I do, from other people. But from you, I just want the money that my present would cost, and—I want it now!”

“Bless my soul! She wants it now! Why, Patsy, what are you going to do? Buy stock?”

“No, but I do want it, father. Won’t you give it to me, and I’ll tell you afterward what I’m going to do with it.”

“I’ll tell you now,” said Nan, smiling at the pair. “She’s going to put it in the bank, because she’s afraid she’ll be poor some day.”

“I don’t wonder you think that, stepmothery,” said Patty, her eyes twinkling at Nan, “for I did tell you so. But since then I’ve changed my mind, and though I want my present from father in cash, I’m going to spend it before Christmas, and not put it in the bank at all.”

“Well, you are a weathercock, Patty. But before morning you will have changed your mind again!”

“No, indeedy! It’s made up to stay this time. So give me the money like a duck of a daddy, won’t you?”

Patty was very wheedlesome, as she caressed her father’s cheek, and smiled into his eyes.

“Well, as you don’t often make a serious request, and as you seem to be in dead earnest this time, I rather think I shall have to say yes.”

“Oh, you dear, good, lovely father!” cried Patty, embracing him. “Will you give it to me now, and how much will it be?”

“Patty,” said Nan, laughing, “you’re positively sordid! I never saw you so greedy for money before.”

Patty laughed outright. Now that she had gained her point she felt in gay spirits.

“Friends,” she said, “you see before you a pauper,—a penniless pauper! Therefore, and because of which, and by reason of the fact that I am in immediate need of money, I stoop to this means of obtaining it, and, as aforesaid, I’d like it now!”

She held out her rosy palm to her father, and stood waiting expectantly.

“Only one hand!” exclaimed Mr. Fairfield, in surprise. “I thought such a grasping young woman would expect both hands filled.”

“All right,” said Patty, and she promptly extended her other palm, too.

Putting both his hands in his pockets, Mr. Fairfield drew them out again, and then laid a ten-dollar goldpiece on each of Patty’s outstretched palms.

“Oh, you dear daddy!” she cried, as she clasped the gold in her fingers; “you lovely parent! This is the nicest Christmas gift I ever had, and now I’ll tell you all about it.”

So she told them, quite seriously, how she had really forgotten to give the poor and the suffering any share of her own Christmas cheer, and how this was the only way she could think of to remedy her neglect.

“And it’s so lovely,” she concluded; “for there are forty little boy-children. And with this money I can get them each a fifty-cent present.”

“So you can,” said Nan. “I’ll go with you to-morrow to select them. And if we can get some cheaper than fifty cents, and I think we can, you’ll have a little left for extras.”

“That’s so,” agreed Patty. “They often have lovely toys for about thirty-nine cents, and I could get some marbles or something to fill up.”

“To fill up what?” asked her father.

“Oh, to fill up the tree. Or I’ll get some ornaments, or some tinsel to decorate it. Oh, father, you are so good to me! This is a lovely Christmas present.”