ails, and I told him I wasn't going to give him a thing if he
didn't, but I haven't a bit of hold-out-ness at Christmas. I wonder
what's in that?"

Cautiously her hand was laid on a box wrapped in white tissue-paper
and tied with red ribbons. "I'll hate to open it and see, it looks so
lovely and Christmasy, but if I don't see soon I'll die from wanting
to know. It rattled a little when I put it on the table. It's Miss
Frances's present, and I know it isn't practical. She's like I am. She
don't think Christmas is for plain and useful things. She thinks it's
for pleasure and pretty ones. I wonder--" Her hands were pressed to
her breast, and on tiptoes she leaned quiveringly toward the table. "I
wonder if it could be a new tambourine with silver bells on it! If it
is I'll die for joy, I'll be so glad! I broke mine to-night. I shook
it so hard when I was dancing after I got home from the tree
that--Good gracious! I've caught my foot again! These diamond buckles
on my satin slippers are always catching the chiffon ruffles on my
petticoats. I oughtn't to wear my best things when I'm busy, but I
can't stand ugly ones, even to work in. Mercy! it's one o'clock, and
the things for Father's stocking aren't out yet."

Out of the bottom drawer of the old-fashioned chest at the end of the
room a box was taken and laid on the floor near the stove, into which
a small stick of wood was put noiselessly, and carefully Carmencita
sat down beside it. Taking off the top of the box, she lifted first a
large-size stocking and held it up.

"I wish I was one hundred children's mother at Christmas and had a
hundred stockings to fill! I mean, if I had things to fill them with.
But as I'm not a mother, just a daughter, I'm thankful glad I've got
a father to fill a stocking for. He's the only child I've got. If he
could just see how beautiful and red this apple is, and how yellow
this orange, and what a darling little candy harp _this_ is, I'd be
thankfuler still. But he won't ever see. The doctor said so--said I
must be his eyes."

One by one the articles were taken out of the box and laid on the
floor; and carefully, critically, each was examined.

"This cravat is an awful color." Carmencita's voice made an effort to
be polite and failed. "Mr. Robinsky bought it for father himself and
asked me to put it in his stocking, but I hate to put. I'll have to do
it, of course, and father won't know the colors, but what on earth
made him get a green-