in her life wrote anything more
genuinely original and delightful than that letter. Besides, it
breathed the very spirit of Christmas, and all the girls declared that
it was splendid.

"You must all sign it now," said Jean, "and I'll put it in one of
those big envelopes; and, Nellie, won't you write her name on it in
fancy letters?"

Which Nellie proceeded to do, and furthermore embellished the envelope
by a border of chubby cherubs, dancing hand in hand around it and a
sketch of No. 16 Chestnut Terrace in the corner in lieu of a stamp.
Not content with this she hunted out a huge sheet of drawing paper and
drew upon it an original pen-and-ink design after her own heart. A
dudish cat--Miss Allen was fond of the No. 16 cat if she could be said
to be fond of anything--was portrayed seated on a rocker arrayed in
smoking jacket and cap with a cigar waved airily aloft in one paw
while the other held out a placard bearing the legend "Merry
Christmas." A second cat in full street costume bowed politely, hat in
paw, and waved a banner inscribed with "Happy New Year," while faintly
suggested kittens gambolled around the border. The girls laughed until
they cried over it and voted it to be the best thing Nellie had yet
done in original work.

All this had taken time and it was past eleven o'clock. Miss Allen had
cried herself to sleep long ago and everybody else in Chestnut Terrace
was abed when five figures cautiously crept down the hall, headed by
Jean with a dim lamp. Outside of Miss Allen's door the procession
halted and the girls silently arranged their gifts on the floor.

"That's done," whispered Jean in a tone of satisfaction as they
tiptoed back. "And now let us go to bed or Mrs. Pickrell, bless her
heart, will be down on us for burning so much midnight oil. Oil has
gone up, you know, girls."

It was in the early morning that Miss Allen opened her door. But early
as it was, another door down the hall was half open too and five rosy
faces were peering cautiously out. The girls had been up for an hour
for fear they would miss the sight and were all in Nellie's room,
which commanded a view of Miss Allen's door.

That lady's face was a study. Amazement, incredulity, wonder, chased
each other over it, succeeded by a glow of pleasure. On the floor
before her was a snug little pyramid of parcels topped by Jean's
letter. On a chair behind it was a bowl of delicious hot-house roses
and Nellie's placard.

Miss Allen look