Sadie stood staring, her mouth open, her eyes full of amazement.

"What you want me to do that for?" she demanded.

"No matter why. Will you do it?"

Sadie wriggled her shoulders and scowled. "I want to make my set
first--then I will."

But Olga shook her head. "No," she replied firmly, "for your mother
first, or else I'll not teach you at all."

"But I'll have to wait so long then for mine." Sadie was half crying
now.

"That's my offer--you can take it or leave it," Olga said. "I must go on
now. Think it over and tell me Saturday what you decide."

"O--if I must, I must, I s'pose," Sadie yielded ungraciously. "How long
will it take me to make mother's?"

"Depends on how quickly you learn."

"O, I'll learn quick enough!" Sadie tossed her head as one conscious of
her powers. "When can I begin?"

"Monday. Can you come right after school?"

"Uh, huh," and with a brief good-bye Sadie was gone.

Olga had no easy task with her over the making of her mother's gift. It
was to be a brass stamp box, and her only thought was to get it out of
the way so that she could begin on her own jewelry; but Olga was firm.

"If you don't make a good job of this your lessons will end right here,"
she declared, and Sadie had learned that when Olga spoke in that tone,
she must be obeyed. She gloomed and pouted, but seeing no other way to
get what she wanted she set to work in earnest. And as the work grew
under her hands, her interest in it grew. When, finally, the box was
done, it was really a creditable bit of work for the first attempt of a
girl barely fourteen, and Sadie was inordinately proud of it.

It was December now and Christmas was the absorbing interest of the
Camp Fire Girls. They were to have a tree in the Camp Fire room, but
Laura told them to make their gifts very simple and inexpensive.

"We must not spoil the Great Day by giving what we cannot afford," she
said. "The loving thought is the heart of Christmas giving--not the
money value. I'll get our tree, but you can help me string popcorn and
cranberries to trim it, and put up the greenery."

"Me too--O Miss Laura, can't I help too?" Jim cried anxiously.

"Why, of course. We couldn't get along without you, Jim," half a dozen
voices assured him before Laura could answer.

"I wish our old ladies could come to our tree," Elsie Harding said to
Alice Reynolds.

"They couldn't. Most of them can't go out evenings, you know. But we
might put gifts for them on t