left
directing him along the halls to the other apartments. A spirit of
universal brotherhood had taken possession of the Santa Maria flatters.
Misery bound them together. But the investigation proved to be
disheartening. The cruel asbestos grates were everywhere. Hope lay
strangled!

As time went on, melancholy settled upon the flat children. The parents
noted it, and wondered if there could be sewer gas in the apartments.
One over-anxious mother called in a physician, who gave the poor little
child some medicine which made it quite ill. No one suspected the truth,
though the children were often heard to say that it was evident that
there was to be no Christmas for them! But then, what more natural for a
child to say, thus hoping to win protestations--so the mothers reasoned,
and let the remark pass.

The day before Christmas was gray and dismal. There was no wind--indeed,
there was a sort of tightness in the air, as if the supply of freshness
had given out. People had headaches--even the Telephone Boy was
cross--and none of the spirit of the time appeared to enliven the flat
children. There appeared to be no stir--no mystery. No whisperings went
on in the corners--or at least, so it seemed to the sad babies of the
Santa Maria.

"It's as plain as a monkey on a hand-organ," said the Telephone Boy to
the attendants at his salon in the basement, "that there ain't to be no
Christmas for we--no, not for we!"

Had not Dorothy produced, at this junction, from the folds of her fluffy
silken skirts several substantial sticks of gum, there is no saying to
what depths of discouragement the flat children would have fallen!

About six o'clock it seemed as if the children would smother for lack of
air! It was very peculiar. Even the janitor noticed it. He spoke about
it to Kara at the head of the back stairs, and she held her hand so as
to let him see the new silver ring on her fourth finger, and he let go
of the rope on the elevator on which he was standing and dropped to the
bottom of the shaft, so that Kara sent up a wild hallo of alarm. But the
janitor emerged as melancholy and unruffled as ever, only looking at his
watch to see if it had been stopped by the concussion.

The Telephone Boy, who usually got a bit of something hot sent down to
him from one of the tables, owing to the fact that he never ate any meal
save breakfast at home, was quite forgotten on this day, and dined off
two russet apples, and drew up his belt