this year or he wouldn't
have left me so many," asserted the child with happy positiveness.
"Connie's going to write him a letter and say thank you for me. If I
don't say 'thank you' when someone gives me something, then I can never
play in the band. Johnny and father always say it. I'm sorry I didn't
write to Santa Claus before Christmas and ask him for a new leg. I can't
go fast on this one. It's been wearing out ever since I was a baby and
it keeps on getting shorter."

"Santa Claus can't give you a new leg, Charlie boy," answered Marjorie,
her bright face clouding momentarily, "but perhaps some day we can find
a good, kind man who will make this poor little leg over like a new
one."

"When you find him, you'll be sure to tell him all about me, won't you,
Marjorie?" he asked eagerly.

"As sure as anything," nodded Marjory, brushing his heavy black hair out
of his eyes and kissing him gently.

"Will you walk down to the drugstore with me, Marjorie?" put in
Constance, abruptly.

Marjorie glanced up to meet her friend's troubled gaze. In an instant
she was on her feet.

"It's a good thing I didn't take off my hat and coat. I'm ready to go,
you see."

"Charlie can watch for us at the window," suggested Constance, hugging
the child. "We won't be long."

Once outside the house there was an eloquent silence. "It's dreadful,
isn't it?" There was a catch in Constance's voice when finally she
spoke.

"Can't he be cured?" queried Marjorie, softly.

"Yes; so a specialist said, if only we had the money."

"He is such a quaint child, and he really and truly believes in Santa
Claus," mused Marjorie, aloud. "Most children of his age don't."

"He's different," was the quick reply. "He has been brought up away from
other children and in a world of his own. He believes in fairies, too,
good ones and bad ones. But he loves music better than anything else in
the world, and his highest ambition in life is to play in the band. If
only I had the money to make him well! I'd love to see him strong and
sturdy like other children."

"You mustn't talk about such sad things to-day, but just be happy,"
counseled Marjorie, slipping her arm through that of her friend.
"Charlie is cheerful and jolly in spite of his poor lame leg. Perhaps
the New Year will bring you something glorious."

"You are so comforting, Marjorie," sighed Constance. "I'll throw all my
cares to the winds and keep sunny all day if I can."

"I must go now." T