tive paradise of her own, which, as
is the case in childhood, seemed to overgild her own future and all
the troubles of the world. Christmas was only a week distant, she
was to have a tree, and the very next evening her mother had
promised to take her down-town and show her the beautiful, lighted
Christmas shops. She wondered, listening to that rumble of
discontent below, why grown-up men and women ever fretted when they
were at liberty to go down-town every evening when they chose and
look at the lighted shops, for she could still picture pure delight
for others without envy or bitterness.

The next day the child was radiant; she danced rather than walked;
she could not speak without a smile; she could eat nothing, for her
happiness was so purely spiritual that desires of the flesh were in
abeyance. Her heart beat fast; the constantly recurring memory of
what was about to happen fairly overwhelmed her as with waves of
delight.

"If you don't eat your supper you can't go, and that's all there is
about it," her mother told her when they were seated at the table,
and Ellen sat dreaming before her toast and peach preserve.

"You must eat your supper, Ellen," Andrew said, anxiously. Andrew
had on his other coat, and he had shaved, and was going too, as was
Mrs. Zelotes Brewster.

"She 'ain't eat a thing all day, she's so excited about goin',"
Fanny said. "Now, Ellen, you must eat your supper, or you can't
go--you'll be sick."

And Ellen ate her supper, though exceeding joy as well as exceeding
woe can make food lose its savor, and toast and preserves were as
ashes on her tongue when the very fragrance of coming happiness was
in her soul.

When, finally, in hand of her mother, while Andrew walked behind
with her grandmother, she went towards the lights of the town, she
had a feeling as of wings on her feet. However, she walked soberly
enough with wide eyes of amazement and delight at everything--the
long, silver track of the snowy road under the light of the full
moon, the slants of the house roofs sparkling with crusts of
crystals, the lighted windows set with house plants, for the
dwellers in the outskirts of Rowe loved house plants, and their
front windows bloomed with the emulative splendor of geraniums from
fall to spring. She saw behind them glimpses of lives and some
doings as real as her own, but mysterious under the locks of other
personalities, and therefore as full of possibilities of
preciousness as the