re, Jeff, you cannot accuse me of not
making my meaning plain."

"Sara," he whispered, wondering, bewildered, half-afraid to believe
this unbelievable joy. "I'm not half worthy of you--but--but"--he bent
forward and put his arm around her, looking straight into her clear,
unshrinking eyes. "Sara, will you be my wife?"

"Yes." She said the word clearly and truly. "And I will think myself a
proud and happy and honoured woman to be so, Jeff. Oh, I don't shrink
from telling you the truth, you see. You mean too much to me for me to
dissemble it. I've hidden it for eighteen years because I didn't think
you wanted to hear it, but I'll give myself the delight of saying it
frankly now."

She lifted her delicate, high-bred face, fearless love shining in
every lineament, to his, and they exchanged their first kiss.

Clorinda's Gifts

"It is a dreadful thing to be poor a fortnight before Christmas," said
Clorinda, with the mournful sigh of seventeen years.

Aunt Emmy smiled. Aunt Emmy was sixty, and spent the hours she didn't
spend in a bed, on a sofa or in a wheel chair; but Aunt Emmy was never
heard to sigh.

"I suppose it is worse then than at any other time," she admitted.

That was one of the nice things about Aunt Emmy. She always
sympathized and understood.

"I'm worse than poor this Christmas ... I'm stony broke," said
Clorinda dolefully. "My spell of fever in the summer and the
consequent doctor's bills have cleaned out my coffers completely. Not
a single Christmas present can I give. And I did so want to give some
little thing to each of my dearest people. But I simply can't afford
it ... that's the hateful, ugly truth."

Clorinda sighed again.

"The gifts which money can purchase are not the only ones we can
give," said Aunt Emmy gently, "nor the best, either."

"Oh, I know it's nicer to give something of your own work," agreed
Clorinda, "but materials for fancy work cost too. That kind of gift is
just as much out of the question for me as any other."

"That was not what I meant," said Aunt Emmy.

"What did you mean, then?" asked Clorinda, looking puzzled.

Aunt Emmy smiled.

"Suppose you think out my meaning for yourself," she said. "That would
be better than if I explained it. Besides, I don't think I _could_
explain it. Take the beautiful line of a beautiful poem to help you in
your thinking out: 'The gift without the giver is bare.'"

"I'd put it the other way and say, 'The giver without