urn my back
on Miss Sadler as you did," continued Miss Broke; "if you ever want a
friend, remember Sally Broke."

Some of Cynthia's trouble, at least, was mitigated by this episode; and
Miss Broke having led the way, Miss Broke's followers came shyly, one by
one, with proffers of friendship. To the good-hearted Merrill girls the
walk home that day was a kind of a triumphal march, a victory over Miss
Sadler and a vindication of their friend. Mrs. Merrill, when she heard
of it, could not find it in her heart to reprove Cynthia. Miss Sadler
had got her just deserts. But Miss Sadler was not a person who was
likely to forget such an incident. Indeed, Mrs. Merrill half expected to
receive a note before the holidays ended that Cynthia's presence was no
longer desired at the school. No such note came, however.

If one had to be away from home on Christmas, there could surely be no
better place to spend that day than in the Merrill household. Cynthia
remembers still, when that blessed season comes around, how each member
of the family vied with the others to make her happy; how they showered
presents on her, and how they strove to include her in the laughter and
jokes at the big family dinner. Mr. Merrill's brother was there with
his wife, and Mrs. Merrill's aunt and her husband, and two broods of
cousins. It may be well to mention that the Merrill relations, like
Sally Broke, had overcome their dislike for Cynthia.

There were eatables from Coniston on that board. A turkey sent by
Jethro for which, Mr. Merrill declared, the table would have to be
strengthened; a saddle of venison--Lem Hallowell having shot a deer on
the mountain two Sundays before; and mince-meat made by Amanda Hatch
herself. Other presents had come to Cynthia from the hills: a gorgeous
copy of Mr. Longfellow's poems from Cousin Ephraim, and a gold locket
from Uncle Jethro. This locket was the precise counterpart (had she but
known it) of a silver one bought at Mr. Judson's shop many years before,
though the inscription "Cynthy, from Uncle Jethro," was within. Into
the other side exactly fitted that daguerreotype of her mother which her
father had given her when he died. The locket had a gold chain with
a clasp, and Cynthia wore it hidden beneath her gown-too intimate a
possession to be shown.

There was still another and very mysterious present, this being a huge
box of roses, addressed to Miss Cynthia Wetherell, which was delivered
on Christmas morning. I