once to revive.

They were in the midst of the dressing, Mammy Belle looking on in
delight, when there was a ring at the door, and of all persons, who
should it be but Mr. Goodman with a large package under his arm!

"It is a horse for that little rascal," he explained, puffing and
embarrassed.

"Come in and see our tree, Mr. Goodman," called Norah.

The old man stood in the doorway. "I have been stumbling round trying
to find this place for half an hour," he growled. "I took this thing
to the shop, but you weren't there, and that Susan woman tried to
direct me where to go."

"Ought you to go about by yourself at night?" Marion asked. "Won't you
come in and wait for us? We are nearly through."

"And do look at this beautiful horse!" cried Norah, unwrapping a
stately animal with flowing mane and tail. "Won't James Mandeville
rejoice? Jack will be nowhere."

"I suppose boys like horses," said the old man, accepting the chair
Mammy Belle brought forward, and evidently not indifferent to the
admiration his gift excited.

The tree trimming went on, and presently returning to his usual
attitude of mind, Mr. Goodman remarked that there was a sinful waste
of money at this time of year.

"That is true," said Norah, pausing to study the effect of a paper
angel in tinsel, "but also there is the money that _might_ be spent to
make people happy, and isn't."

"Come, Norah, really, we must not stay any longer. You have done quite
enough," Marion was saying, partly in the wish to cut off a possible
argument, when the front door opened with a startling suddenness, and
a young man with a bag in his hand stepped into the hall and faced the
scene in the parlor,--the gay Christmas tree, the holly; Norah
standing on a chair, with her laughing face over her shoulder; Marion,
tall and stately, by the fireplace; and grim-looking Giant Despair in
the chair of state.

"Why, Marse Tom," gasped Mammy Belle, "I done spect you in de
mawnin'."

It was Marion who made the explanations,--their friendship for James
Mandeville and Mammy Belle's difficulty with the tree, and she did it
with a gracious charm of manner that was irresistible.

Mr. Norton's boyish yet careworn face flushed. "You are very kind to
my little boy," he said. "I wish his mother were here to thank you."

"Why, Norton, is that you?" exclaimed Giant Despair, waking up. "Do
you mean to tell me that James Mandeville is your boy? Upon my word!"

"It is fortunate you k