rt to see the little ones rush to
Grandfather Harling, clinging round him like a swarm of bees and
clamoring for a story. And a story they got--and not only one but two,
three, for Grandfather was a rare story-teller and a great lover of
children. Meantime the elders gossiped together, their chief topic of
speculation being the sender of the wonderful Christmas dinners.

"If you hadn't got one, Carl, I should almost be tempted to think old
Corcoran had sent ours to ease his conscience," Hal announced. "But of
course he wouldn't have been stretching his philanthropy so far as
Mulberry Court, I'm afraid."

"Oh, I'm sure the dinner couldn't have come from Mr. Corcoran," put in
Louise quickly. "It wouldn't be a bit like him to tie the nuts up with
fancy ribbon, and tuck in the presents. No, somebody sent that dinner
who really cared, and took pains to have it pretty and tempting. Mr.
Corcoran might order us a dinner at the market but he never would have
packed the basket himself as--as--Mr. X did."

"Well, all I can say is that Mr. X, whoever he is, is a corker; and may
he live long and prosper!" Hal declared.

"He will prosper," murmured Mrs. Harling in her soft voice. "Such a man
cannot help it."

"I do wish, though, we knew who he is, don't you?" Mary asked. "I'd
just like to thank him."

"I fancy Mr. X is not the sort that covets thanks," her mother replied.
"Some people take their pleasure in doing a kind deed. I imagine
Louise's Mr. X is one of that sort."

So they talked on, until suddenly glancing out of the window, Mrs.
McGregor exclaimed in consternation, "Why, it is snowing!"

Sure enough! A thick smother of flakes whirled down into the deserted
streets and cutting short Grandfather Harling's story, the visitors
bundled themselves into their wraps.

"I hope the children won't take cold," said Mrs. Harling anxiously.

"Take cold? Mercy, no! They are tough as nuts, every soul of them,"
answered their mother. "Having no automobiles they gain it in their
health. Poverty has its blessings--I'll say that! Now, Carl, you hold
onto Nell and don't let her down on all fours; she is such a fat little
blunderbuss! And Mary, keep Martin in the path if you can, or he will
lose that huge rubber boot. Uncle Frederick is going to wheel the baby.
And remember, Tim, there are to be no snowballs or snow down anybody's
neck. You will have plenty of time for that sort of fun to-morrow, if
you call it fun. And, children, do