formances
on that day. He refrained from telling Phoebe until the very last
minute that her mother would not be out for the holiday. He hadn't the
heart to do it.

He broke the news then by telling the child that her mother was
snowbound and couldn't get there. An opportune fall of snow the day
before Christmas gave him the inspiration.

He set up the little Christmas tree in the back parlour, assisted by
Bridget and Annie, after Phoebe had gone to bed on Christmas Eve. She
had urged him to read to her about Tiny Tim, but he put her off with
the announcement that Santa was likely to be around early on account
of the fine sleighing, and if he saw that she wasn't asleep in bed he
might skip the house entirely.

The expressman, in delivering several boxes from town that afternoon,
had said to his helper:--

"That little fellow that came to the door was Nellie Duluth's husband,
Mr.--Mr.----Say, look on the last page there and see what his name is.
He's a cheap skate. A dime! Wot do you think of that?" He held up the
dime Harvey had given him and squinted at it as if it were almost too
small to be seen with the naked eye.

Nellie sent "loads" of presents to Phoebe--toys, books, candies,
fruits, pretty dresses, a velvet coat, a tiny pair of opera glasses,
strings of beads, bracelets, rings--dozens of things calculated to set
a child mad with delight. There were pocketbooks, handkerchiefs,
squirrel stoles and muffs for each of the servants, a box of cigars
for the postman, another for the milkman, and a five-dollar bill for
the janitor.

There was nothing for Harvey.

He looked for a long time at the envelope containing the five-dollar
bill, an odd little smile creeping into his eyes. He was the janitor,
he remembered. After a moment of indecision he slipped the bill into
another envelope, which he marked "Charity" and laid aside until
morning brought the mendicant who, with bare fingers and frosted lips,
always came to play his mournful clarionet in front of the house.

Surreptitiously he searched the two big boxes carefully, inwardly
hoping that she had not forgotten--nay, ignored--him. But there was
nothing there, not even a Christmas card! It was the first Christmas
she had....

The postman brought a small box addressed to Phoebe. The handwriting
was strange, but he thought nothing of it. He thought it was nice of
Butler to remember his little one and lamented the fact that he had
not bought something for the