ll make him a paper collar, and print 'Faithful' on it, and let him
always stand on the drawers by our bed, and he'll be Darling's and my
watch-dog."

Happiness is sometimes very wholesome, but it does not cure a quinsy
off hand. Darling cried that night when the big pillow was brought
out, which Madam Liberality always slept against in her quinsies, to
keep her from choking. She did not know of that consolatory
Christmas-box in the cupboard.

On Christmas Day Madam Liberality was speechless. The quinsy had
progressed very rapidly.

"It generally breaks the day I have to write on my slate," Madam
Liberality wrote, looking up at her mother with piteous eyes.

She was conscious that she had been greatly to blame for what she was
suffering, and was anxious to "behave well about it" as an atonement.
She begged--on her slate--that no one would stay away from church on
her account, but her mother would not leave her.

"And now the others are gone," said Mother, "since you won't let the
Christmas-tree be put off, I propose that we have it up, and I dress
it under your orders, whilst the others are out, and then it can be
moved into the little book-room, all ready for to-night."

Madam Liberality nodded like a china Mandarin.

"But you are in sad pain, I fear?" said her mother,

"One can't have everything," wrote Madam Liberality on her slate. Many
illnesses had made her a very philosophical little woman; and, indeed,
if the quinsy broke and she were at ease, the combination of good
things would be more than any one could reasonably expect, even at
Christmas.

Every beast was labelled, and hung up by her orders. The box of
furniture was addressed to herself and Darling, as a joint possession,
and the sweetmeats were tied in bags of muslin. The tree looked
charming. The very angel at the top seemed proud of it.

"I'll leave the tea-things up-stairs," said Mother.

But Madam Liberality shook her head vigorously. She had been making up
her mind, as she sat steaming over the old teapot; and now she wrote
on her slate, "Put a white cloth round the tub, and put out the
tea-things like a tea-party, and put a ticket in the slop-basin--_For
Darling. With very_, VERY _Best Love_. Make the last 'very' very big."

Madam Liberality's mother nodded, but she was printing a ticket; much
too large a ticket, however, to go into the green and white
slop-basin. When it was done she hung it on the tree, under the angel.
The inscripti