.

Nearly everybody in Carthage--except Mrs. Ulysses S. G.
Budlong--celebrates Christmas behind closed doors. People find it
easier to rhapsodize when the collateral is not shown. It is amazing
how far a Carthaginian can go on the most meager donation. The
formula is usually: "We had Such a lovely Christmas at our house.
What did I get? Oh, so many things I can't reMember!"

But Mrs. Ulysses S. G. Budlong does not celebrate her Christmasses
behind closed doors--or rather she did not: a strange change came
over her this last Christmas. She used to open her doors
wide--metaphorically, that is; for there was a storm-door with a
spring on it to keep the cold draught out of the hall.

As regular as Christmas itself was the oh-quite-informal reception
Mrs. Budlong gave to mitigate the ineffable stupidity of Christmas
afternoon: that dolorous period when one meditates the ancient
platitude that anticipation is better than realization; and suddenly
understands why it is blesseder to give than to receive: because one
does not have to wear what one gives away.

On Christmas Mrs. U. S. G. Budlong took all the gifts she had
gleaned, and piled them on and around the baby grand piano in the
back parlor. There was a piano lamp there, one of those illuminated
umbrellas--about as large and as useful as a date-palm tree.

Along about that time in the afternoon when the Christmas dinner
becomes a matter of hopeless remorse, Mrs. Budlong's neighbors were
expected to drop in and view the loot under the lamp. It looked like
hospitality, but it felt like hostility. She passed her neighbors
under the yoke and gloated over her guests, while seeming to
overgloat her gifts.

But she got the gifts. There was no question of that. By hook or by
crook she saw to it that the bazaar under the piano lamp always
groaned.

One of the chief engines for keeping up the display was the display
itself. Everybody who knew Mrs. Budlong--and not to know Mrs.
Budlong was to argue oneself unknown--knew that he or she would be
invited to this Christmas triumph. And being invited rather implied
being represented in the tribute.

Hence ensued a curious rivalry in Carthage. People vied with each
other in giving Mrs. Budlong presents; not that they loved Mrs.
Budlong more, but that they loved comparisons less.

The rivalry had grown to ridiculous proportions. But of course Mrs.
Budlong did not care how ridiculous it grew; for it could hardly ha