gets used to it," said the blue-capped
philosopher, and took his departure.

"But it's the getting used to it," said Harvey to Annie as she handed
him the message. He tore open the envelope. She saw the light die out
of his eyes.

The message was from Ripton, the manager, and read:--

"Please send Phoebe in with the nurse to see the matinee to-day."
The invitation was explicit enough. He was not wanted.

If he had a secret inclination to ignore the command altogether, it
was frustrated by his own short-sightedness. He gulped, and then read
the despatch aloud for the benefit of the maid. When it was too late
he wished he had not done so.

Annie beamed. "Oh, sir, I've always wanted to see Miss Duluth act. I
will take good care of Phoebe."

He considered it beneath his dignity to invite her into a conspiracy
against the child, so he gloomily announced that he would go in with
them on the one-o'clock train and stay to bring them out.

The Christmas tree was a great success. Phoebe was in raptures. He
quite forgot his own disappointment in watching her joyous antics. As
the distributor of the presents that hung on the gaily trimmed and
dazzling cedar, he came at last to the little package from Butler. It
contained a beautiful gold chain, at the end of which hung suspended a
small diamond-studded slipper--blue enamel, fairly covered with rose
diamonds.

Phoebe screamed with delight. Her father's face was a study.

"Why, they are diamonds!" he murmured. "Surely Butler wouldn't be
giving presents like this." A card fluttered to the floor. He picked
it up and read:--"A slipper for my little Cinderella. Keep it and it
will bring good luck."

There was no name, but he knew who had sent it. With a cry of rage he
snatched the dainty trinket from her hand and threw it on the floor,
raising his foot to stamp it out of shape with his heel. His first
vicious attempt missed the slipper altogether, and before he could
repeat it the child was on the floor clutching it in her fingers,
whimpering strangely. The servants looked on in astonishment.

He drew back, mumbling something under his breath. In a moment he
regained control of himself.

"It--it isn't meant for you, darling," he said, hoarsely. "Santy left
it here by mistake. We will send it back to him. It belongs to some
other poor little girl."

"But I am Cinderella!" she cried. "Mr. Fairy-fax said so. He told
Santy to bring it to me. Please, daddy--please!"

He