here in
July and August, which certainly seems a strange arrangement to our
ideas. However, whatever the temperature may be, Christmas is ever kept
by all English people as nearly as possible in the same way as they were
wont to keep it "at Home," for it is thus that all colonists lovingly
speak of the land of their birth.

So, though little Vera Everest lived on an African farm, she knew all
about Christmas, and did not forget to hang up both her fat, white
socks, to find them well filled with presents on Christmas morning; and
there were roast turkey and plum-pudding for dinner, just as you had
last year.

She was not old enough to ride to the distant village church with her
parents, but she amused herself during their absence with singing all
the Christmas carols she knew to Sixpence, her Zulu nurse; and by and by
she heard the tramp of the horse's feet, and ran to the door.

Instead of the cheerful greeting she expected, Mother hardly noticed her
little girl. She held an open letter in her hand, and was crying--yes,
crying on Christmas Day!

Mrs. Everest was indeed in sad grief; the mail had just come in, and she
had a letter to say that her mother was seriously ill, and longing to
see her. A few months ago there would have been no difficulty about the
journey; but the Everests had lost a great deal of money lately, and an
expensive journey was now quite out of the question, and yet it cut her
to the heart not to be able to go to her mother when she was ill, and
perhaps dying.

Vera was too young to be told all this, but she was not too young to see
that Mother was in trouble.

"I do believe Santa Claus forgot Mammy's stocking," she said to herself:
"she has not had a present to-day, and that's why she's crying."

So Vera turned the matter over in her mind, and came to the conclusion
that _she_ must give Mother a present, as Santa Claus had so shamefully
neglected her.

She went to her treasure-box--a tin biscuit-case in which she kept the
pretty stones and crystals which she picked up in her walks, and, after
thinking a little, she chose a bright, irregular-shaped stone, and,
clasping her hands tightly behind her, she went on to the veranda.

Mother was lying back in a cane chair and gazing with sad eyes over the
sea.

"I've brought you a Christmas present, Mother," said Vera. "Don't cry
any more, but guess what it is."

Mrs. Everest turned round and smiled lovingly at her child. Certainly
little Ver