. "It's no such thing. Anyway, that has
nothing to do with putting it around the tree."

"Robert, you grieve me." Jim shook his head mournfully. "You a college
man. How could the rays of the stars go around a tree? I ask it in all
seriousness."

Bob was fairly caught. Even Polly laughed at him. Mrs. Farwell came in
just in time to save him from more teasing.

"Oh, how beautiful the tree looks," she said. "I wouldn't put another
thing on it, it's quite perfect as it is. Come into the other room and
sing some carols, and then we must all hang up our stockings and go to
bed; to-morrow will be a busy day."

"What are we going to do besides eat dinner?" Uncle Roddy demanded from
the other room.

"Why, Sarah is packing some baskets for Polly to take to some of the
poor families in the village," Mrs. Farwell explained, "and of course,
we'll all go to church in the morning. In the afternoon I suppose--"

"Now, Kate," interrupted the Doctor, laughing, "In the afternoon do let
us digest our dinner."

After they had all sung the carols around the old tinkly piano, they
wished one another a Merry Christmas, found their candles on the big
table in the hall--for there were no electric lights in Polly's
house--and went upstairs.

"Come along old man," Polly said to Sandy. "Do you want some help?" she
asked, as the old dog prepared to follow her. He always slept on the rug
beside her bed.

"How feeble he is," Bob said. "He doesn't act a bit well, Poll."

"It's old age, I'm afraid," Polly replied, sadly. "He's over fourteen,
you know."

"I'm going to carry him up," Bob said. "I believe it hurts him to take
these steps." He picked up Sandy ever so gently and carried him to
Polly's room. "Good night again," he said at the door, "and Merry
Christmas."

But all the wishes in the world cannot make happiness. That Christmas
Day was far from merry for either Polly or Bob.

About two o'clock in the morning Polly awoke with a start. Some one was
groaning. As she sat up in bed and tried to rub the sleep from her eyes,
she felt something touch her arm. It was Sandy's paw.

After groping about in the dark she found the matches and lighted her
candle, and jumped out on the floor.

"What is it, boy?" she asked, resting his head in her lap.

Sandy rolled his eyes, as dogs do when they are in pain and the agonized
appeal in them made a lump rise in Polly's throat.

"Dear old fellow, what is it?" she said, gently. "What can I do fo