s afternoon? It--it looked rather
lonely there.--I--think I could fix it."

"Honk-honk-honk!" implored the automobile.

"But who _is_ this Miss Flora?" cried her Mother. "I never heard
anything so ridiculous in my life! How do we know she's respectable?"

"Oh, my dear," deprecated Flame's Father. "Just as though the owners
of the Rattle-Pane House would rent it to any one who wasn't
respectable!"

"Oh, she's _very_ respectable," insisted Flame. "Of a lineage so
distinguished--"

"How old might this paragon be?" queried her Father.

"Old?" puzzled Flame. To her startled mind two answers only presented
themselves.... Should she say "Oh, she's only just weaned," or
"Well,--she was invented about 1406?" Between these two dilemmas a
single compromise suggested itself. "She's _awfully_ wrinkled," said
Flame; "that is--her face is. All wizened up, I mean."

"Oh, then of course she _must_ be respectable," twinkled Flame's
Father.

"And is related in some way," persisted Flame, "to Edward the
2nd--Duke of York."

"Of that guarantee of respectability I am, of course, not quite so
sure," said her Father.

With a temperish stamping of feet, an infuriate yank of the door-bell,
Uncle Wally's chauffeur announced that the limit of his endurance had
been reached.

Blankly Flame's Mother stared at Flame's Father. Blankly Flame's
Father returned the stare.

"Oh, _p-l-e-a-s-e_!" implored Flame. Her face was crinkled like fine
crepe.

"Smooth out your nose!" ordered her Mother. On the verge of
capitulation the same familiar fear assailed her. "Will you promise
not to see the Lay Reader?" she bargained.

"--Yes'm," said Flame.

PART II

It's a dull person who doesn't wake up Christmas Morning with a
curiously ticklish sense of Tinsel in the pit of his stomach!--A sort
of a Shine! A kind of a Pain!

"Glisten and Tears,
Pang of the years."

That's Christmas!

So much was born on Christmas Day! So much has died! So much is yet to
come! Balsam-Scented, with the pulse of bells, how the senses sing!
Memories that wouldn't have batted an eye for all the Gabriel Trumpets in
Eternity leaping to life at the sound of a twopenny horn! Merry Folk who
were with us once and are no more! Dream Folk who have never been with us
yet but will be some time! Ache of old carols! Zest of new-fangled games!
Flavor of puddings! Shine of silver and glass! The pleasant frosty smell of
the Express-man! The Gift Beautiful! The