t of a German Christmas. It had
enclosed some money for Marian to provide trinkets for her own
tree the next year.

Yet, alas,--and here came the tragedy--Marian had never been
allowed to have a tree; her grandparents did not approve of such
things; the money must go to the missions in foreign lands, and when
the next missionary box was sent Marian's Christmas money was sent
with it in one form or another. Even if Grandpa and Grandma Otway
had known what rebellious tears Marian shed and how she told Tippy
that she hated the heathen, and that she didn't see why they
couldn't go barefoot in a country as hot as China, and why they
couldn't eat rice as well as she, and why missionaries had to have
all sorts of things she didn't have, even if her grandparents had
known that, they would have said that it showed a wrong spirit and
that a little girl bid fair to become a hardened sinner, so she
ought to be made to sacrifice her own pleasures to so good a cause.

That would have been the least of it, for there would also have been
a long lecture from both grandfather and grandmother with a longer
prayer following and there would probably have been an order that
Marian must go without butter for a week that she might be taught to
practice self-denial. So Marian had thought it wise to say nothing
but to accept with as good a grace as possible the bitter necessity
of giving up her Christmas tree.

With the mustard seeds folded in her hand she stood watching Mrs.
Hunt tie up her spices, but the seeds were forgotten when Mrs. Hunt
said: "What will you do with a teacher living in your house and you
not going to school, I'd like to know. Mr. Hunt says he rather
guesses you'll not stay at home, but Mrs. Perkins says like as not
your grandma will have her teach you out of hours and pay her board
that way. As long as she is the daughter of a friend your grandpa
would want to make it easy for her and they'll fix it up some way."

Marian could scarcely believe her ears. "Coming to our house? Who is
she? What is her name, Mrs. Hunt? When is she coming? Who told you?"

"Dear bless me, what a lot of questions. Take care and don't get
your sleeve in that vinegar; it'll take all the color out. I'll wipe
it up and then you can lean on the table all you want to. There.
Well, you see it was Mrs. Leach told me. It seems this Miss Robbins
is the daughter of one of the professors at the college where your
grandpa was for so many years. He was on