the snow-plow men
had been kept busy clearing the streets. It was just the kind of weather
to wear one's fur coat, and Marjorie gave a little shiver of delight as
she slipped into her Christmas treasure. And how warm it was! The
searching east wind that was abroad that day held no discomfort for her.

As she stepped briskly along over the hard-packed walk, hedged in by
high-piled snow, she thought rather soberly of her own good fortune and
wondered why so many beautiful things had been given to her while to
Constance life had grudged all but the barest necessities. With a rush
of generous impulse she resolved to do all in her power to smooth the
troubled way of her friend.

When within sight of the house Marjorie's eyes were fastened upon the
living-room windows for some sign of Charlie, who would sit contentedly
at one of them by the hour watching the passersby. Catching sight of
his pale little face pressed to the window pane she waved her hand gaily
to him. He disappeared from the window and an instant later stood in the
open door, shouting gleefully, "Oh, Connie, here's Marjorie! Here's
Marjorie!"

Marjorie bent and embraced the gleeful little boy. "How is Charlie
to-day?" she asked.

"Pretty well," nodded the child. "I wish I had asked for that leg,
though. Mine hurts to-day."

"You poor baby!" consoled Marjorie, tenderly. "But where is Connie,
dear?"

"She's upstairs. I'll call her."

He limped across the room to the stair door, which was situated at one
side of the living-room, and opened it. "Connie," he called, "Marjorie's
come to see us."

There was a sound of quick footsteps on the stairs and Constance
appeared. "I didn't know you were here," she apologized.

"Where were you on Thursday?" began Marjorie, laughingly. "You promised
to come over. Don't you remember?"

"Yes," returned Constance, briefly. Then with a swift return of the old,
chilling reserve, which of late she had seemed to lose, "It was
impossible for me to come."

Marjorie scrutinized her friend's face. The look of impassivity had come
back to it. "What is the matter, Constance?" she questioned anxiously.
"Has anything happened?"

An expression of intense pain leaped into Constance's blue eyes. "I've
something to tell you, Marjorie. It's dreadful. I----" With a muffled
sob she threw herself, face down, upon the old velvet couch, her slender
shoulders shaking with passionate grief.

"Why, Constance!" Marjorie regarded the sobbi