rent and the groceries and the coal, though, to be sure, she used a
precious bit of that. Would all the work and saving and skimping do
good? Maybe, yes, maybe by Christmas.

Christmas Eve on Royal Street is no place for a weakling, for the
shouts and carousels of the roisterers will strike fear into the
bravest ones. Yet amid the cries and yells, the deafening blow of
horns and tin whistles, and the really dangerous fusillade of
fireworks, a little figure hurried along, one hand clutching tightly
the battered hat that the rude merry-makers had torn off, the other
grasping under the thin black cape a worn little pocketbook.

Into the Mont de Piete she ran breathless, eager. The ticket? Here,
worn, crumpled. The ring? It was not gone? No, thank Heaven! It was
a joy well worth her toil, she thought, to have it again.

Had Titiche not been shooting crackers on the banquette instead of
peering into the crack, as was his wont, his big, round black eyes
would have grown saucer-wide to see little Miss Sophie kiss and fondle
a ring, an ugly clumsy band of gold.

"Ah, dear ring," she murmured, "once you were his, and you shall be his
again. You shall be on his finger, and perhaps touch his heart. Dear
ring, ma chere petite de ma coeur, cherie de ma coeur. Je t'aime, je
t'aime, oui, oui. You are his; you were mine once too. To-night, just
one night, I'll keep you--then--to-morrow, you shall go where you can
save him."

The loud whistles and horns of the little ones rose on the balmy air
next morning. No one would doubt it was Christmas Day, even if doors
and windows were open wide to let in cool air. Why, there was
Christmas even in the very look of the mules on the poky cars; there
was Christmas noise in the streets, and Christmas toys and Christmas
odours, savoury ones that made the nose wrinkle approvingly, issuing
from the kitchen. Michel and Madame Laurent smiled greetings across
the street at each other, and the salutation from a passer-by recalled
the many-progenied landlady to herself.

"Miss Sophie, well, po' soul, not ver' much Chris'mas for her. Mais,
I'll jus' call him in fo' to spen' the day with me. Eet'll cheer her a
bit."

It was so clean and orderly within the poor little room. Not a speck
of dust or a litter of any kind on the quaint little old-time high
bureau, unless you might except a sheet of paper lying loose with
something written on it. Titiche had evidently inherited his pry