t she had ever
achieved the dignity of a nickname. She accompanied Patty with some
degree of eagerness. The next best thing to receiving a Christmas box of
your own, is to be present at the reception of a friend's.

It was a big square wooden box, packed to the brim with smaller boxes
and parcels tied with ribbon and holly, and tucked into every crevice
funny surprises. You could picture, just from looking at it, the kind of
home that it came from, filled with jokes and nonsense and love.

"It's the first Christmas I've ever spent away from home," said Patty,
with the suggestion of a quiver in her voice.

But her momentary soberness did not last; the business of exploration
was too absorbing to allow any divided emotion. Harriet sat on the edge
of the bed and watched in silence, while Patty gaily strewed the floor
with tissue paper and scarlet ribbon. She unpacked a wide assortment of
gloves and books and trinkets, each with a message of love. Even the
cook had baked a Christmas cake with a fancy top. And little Tommy, in
wobbly uphill printing, had labeled an elephant filled with candy, "FOR
DERE CISTER FROM TOM."

Patty laughed happily as she plumped a chocolate into her mouth, and
dropped the elephant into Harriet's lap.

"Aren't they dears to go to such a lot of trouble? I tell you, it pays
to stay away sometimes, they think such a lot more of you! This is from
Mother," she added, as she pried off the cover of a big dressmaker's
box, and lifted out a filmy dancing frock of pink crepe.

"Isn't it perfectly sweet?" she demanded, "and I didn't need it a bit!
Don't you love to get things you don't need?"

"I never do," said Harriet.

Patty was already deep in another parcel.

"From Daddy, with all the love in the world," she read. "Dear old Dad!
What on earth do you s'pose it is? I hope Mother suggested something.
He's a perfect idiot about choosing presents, unless--Oh!" she squealed.
"Pink silk stockings and slippers to match; and look at those perfectly
lovely buckles!"

She offered for Harriet's inspection a pink satin slipper adorned with
the daintiest of silver buckles, and with heels dizzily suggestive of
France.

"Isn't my father a lamb?" Patty gaily kissed her hand toward a
dignified, judicial-looking portrait on the bureau. "Mother suggested
the slippers, of course, but the buckles and French heels were his own
idea. She likes me sensible, and he likes me frivolous."

She was deep in the absorbi