the edges of a
little pool.

Carol had a big, big box that looked like a magic lantern. And on every
branch where he had hung his seven wishes for a camel there was a white
card instead with the one word "Palestine" written on it.

Everybody looked very much perplexed.

Young Derry Willard's father laughed.

"If the youngster wants camels," he said, "he must have camels! I'm
going to Palestine one of these days before so very long. I'll take him
with me. There must be heaps of camels still in Palestine."

"Going to Palestine before--long," gasped my mother. "How wonderful!"

Everybody turned and looked at Carol.

"Want to go, son, eh?" laughed Derry Willard's father.

Carol's mouth quivered. He looked at my mother.

My mother's mouth quivered. A little red came into her checks.

"He wants me to thank you very much, Mr. Willard," she said. "But he
thinks perhaps you wouldn't want to take him to Palestine--if you knew
that he can't--talk."

"Can't talk?" cried Mr. Derry Willard. "_Can't talk?_" He looked at
mother! He looked at Carol! He swallowed very hard! Then suddenly he
began to laugh again!

"Good enough!" he cried. "He's the very boy I'm looking for! We'll rear
him for a diplomat!"

Carol got a hammer and opened his big box. It _was_ a magic lantern! He
was wild with joy! He beat his fists on the top of the box! He stamped
his feet! He came and burrowed his head in mother's shoulder. When Carol
burrows his head in my mother's shoulder it means, "Call me anything you
want to!"

Mother called him anything she wanted to. Right out loud before
everybody. "Shining Face!" said my mother.

There were lots of other presents besides.

My father had made a giant kite for Carol. It looked nine feet tall. My
father had made the dearest little wooden work-box for my mother. There
_was_ a blue silk waist for Rosalee. My mother had knitted me a doll!
Its body was knitted! Its cheeks were knitted! Its nose was knitted! It
was wonderful!

We ate the peppermint-candy canes. All the pink stripes. All the white
stripes. We sang carols. We sang,

O, the foxes have holes! And the birds build their nests
In the crotch of the sycamore-tree!
But the Little Son of God had no place for His head
When He cameth to earth for me!

Rosalee's voice was like a lark in the sky. Carol's face looked like two
larks in the sky.

The tame crow stayed in the kitchen. He was afraid of so many strangers.
The