he next
thing will be that you'll want a Christmas-tree yourself!"

"Well, and it wouldn't be a bad idea," thought the father. "There's
my man, Fritz, he has been to the woods and cut a little tree for his
children, and he seems to get a heap of pleasure out of it. Ah! if
only little Polly had lived!" Strangely enough, the wife was thinking
the same thing, as she sliced and sifted and weighed. "If little Polly
had lived it would have been different, but we can't throw away money
on nonsense for Ned."

A little red cloak flashed by the window, a little bright face, just
about the age of "our little Polly's," peeped in at the door, and
Mamie asked, "May I come in, Mrs. Huntley?"

"Certainly, child. Here's a fresh cookie. I suppose you're full of
Christmas over at your house?"

"Oh, yes, ma'am! And I'm so sorry you don't keep it. What's the
reason?"

"Don't keep it! Why, we have a regular Christmas dinner as sure as
the 25th of December comes round, and Pa gives me a new dress, or
something that I need, and we give Ned a suit of clothes, or shoes, or
something that he needs."

"Well," said Mamie, "but I like our way best. May I tell you how we
keep Christmas?"

"Talk away. I can listen."

"Well, you see, a good while before Christmas my mother begins to get
ready, and I often see her hide up something quick when I come in, and
then she laughs, and I think, 'Oh, yes, something's coming,' and then
mother takes me in her lap and tells me how Jesus is coming, and how
He did come. Do you know, Mrs. Huntley?"

"You can tell me, child?"

"You see, He came a long, long time ago as a little baby. Mamma says
that he began at the beginning, so that no little child could say, 'I
can't be like Jesus, for Jesus never was so little as me.' That first
birthday of His, there wasn't any room for Him at the tavern, and when
the dear little baby Jesus was sleepy, they laid Him right in a stable
manger, and the shepherds found Him lying there. Christmas is His
Birthday, and I suppose they give all the children presents because
Jesus loved little children, and then Santa Claus--Oh, Mrs. Huntley,
that's what I came about, and I 'most forgot! If you don't keep
Christmas--I mean as we do," she added, as Mrs. Huntley frowned, "and
if you don't use the things that Santa Claus leaves here, can't I come
over and get 'em? Only I'd rather Ned should have 'em."

"Child alive! How your tongue runs! Here, now, take these cookies home
with y