ice cream_, but the medical student was the only one to guess the
meaning of a calf reposing on the grass. He explained his cleverness by
saying that his mother often made _veal loaf_, and he was very fond of
it.

When he had received his prize, which was a box of candy, it was time
for the tree. While they were all thinking of something else, Mr. Clark
had slipped in and lighted it, and there it was, all in a blaze of
glory!

The Spectacle Man was master of ceremonies, and it was worth something
to see his face as he stepped about taking things from the tree and
calling out names.

For each there was a photograph of the Magi on the way to Bethlehem,
and, besides these, there were other things both useful and amusing,
that had been picked up at the ten-cent store, or manufactured at home.

No one enjoyed it more than Mrs. Gray, unless it was the General, whose
enthusiasm knew no bounds, and who pranced about with a woolly lamb in
one hand and a Japanese baby in the other. Even Mrs. Bond relaxed, and
for at least an hour did nothing but look on and be amused.

When the tree was exhausted they had some light refreshments, and then
played old-fashioned games in which all could join.

"I don't know when I have had such a good time," said Mrs. Gray, as she
was getting ready to go; "and I don't see how you happened to think of
me."

"We had made up our minds to be lonely and homesick, but we have
laughed so much I don't see how we can ever be doleful again," remarked
Miss Moore's friend.

"It is the funniest party I ever went to," Gladys whispered to Frances,
"but I have had the loveliest time!"

The shy student had enjoyed himself more than he could express in words,
and his face spoke for him as he said good night.

"I am going to have a Christmas tree every year of my life till I die,"
the Spectacle Man declared; and if he had had the least encouragement,
he would have gone to work on the spot to plan another party.

CHAPTER THIRTEENTH.

ONE SUNDAY AFTERNOON.

In Frances' very own book there was a story of a boy who had a beautiful
voice, and who with a great many other boys sang in the choir of Christ
Church. The story was somewhat sad, for the boy, who loved dearly to
sing, lost his sweet voice one day and never found it again; but the
memory of the music as it floated up to the Gothic arches, and of the
sunlight from the great stained window falling a shaft of crimson and
gold across the chancel