as."

"We're going to make it a corker," said the Banker. "Where's the tree?
We got one."

"In the wood-shed," Lylda answered. "He has not seen it; I was so very
careful."

They were silent a moment. Then: "My room is chock full of toys," the
Banker said reflectively. "But this is a rotten town for candy
canes--they only had little ones." And they all laughed.

"I have a present for you, Lylda," the Chemist said after a moment.

"Oh, but you must not give it until to-morrow; you yourself have told me
that."

The Chemist rose. "I want to give it now," he said, and left the room.
In a moment he returned, carrying a mahogany pedestal under one arm and
a square parcel in the other. He set the pedestal upright on the floor
in a corner of the room and began opening the package. It was a mahogany
case, cubical in shape. He lifted its cover, disclosing a glass-bell set
upon a flat, mahogany slab. Fastened to the center of this was a
handsome black plush case, in which lay a gold wedding-ring.

Lylda drew in her breath sharply and held it; the three other men stared
at the ring in amazement. The Chemist was saying: "And I decided not to
destroy it, Lylda, for your sake. There is no air under this glass
cover; the ring is lying in a vacuum, so that nothing can come out of it
and live. It is quite safe for us to keep it--this way. I thought of
this plan, afterwards, and decided to keep the ring--for you." He set
the glass bell on the pedestal.

Lylda stood before it, bending down close over the glass.

"You give me back--my world," she breathed; then she straightened up,
holding out her arms toward the ring. "My birthplace--my people--they
are safe." And then abruptly she sank to her knees and began softly
sobbing.

Loto called from upstairs and they heard him coming down. Lylda went
back hastily to the fire; the Chemist pushed a large chair in front of
the pedestal, hiding it from sight.

The boy, in his night clothes, stood on the hearth beside his mother.

"There is the stocking, _mamita_. Where shall I hang it?"

"First the prayer, Loto. Can you remember?"

The child knelt on the hearth, with his head in his mother's lap.

"Now I lay me----" he began softly, halting over the unfamiliar words.
Lylda's fingers stroked his brown curly head as it nestled against her
knees; the firelight shone golden in his tousled curls.

The Chemist was watching them with moist eyes. "His first Christmas," he
murmured, and smi