r Polly, and"--the woman's voice broke, and the father,
saddened too, said, comfortingly, "She's safe, my dear, in heaven."

"Yes, father, but I'm thinking of the one that's left, for all I cried
a little. I guess you were near right about getting him something
nice. He's but a boy yet, and he'd think more of Christmas, and
perhaps of the child that was born on Christmas, if we show him that
Jesus has made our hearts a little more tender."

What it cost that hard, reserved woman to say that, none knew, but I
think her husband felt dimly how she must have fought with herself,
and he was silent for some time. At last he said, with a tone of
gladness in his voice, "My dear, I'm glad to get him something. He's a
good boy, Ned is."

What a pleasant time they had, and how they caught the spirit of
Christmas! They bought a sled and skates, a book or two, and candies,
and Mrs. Huntley found a jack-knife that was just the thing Ned
wanted. Then she said to her husband:

"I'd like to buy something for Mamie. It will be nice to buy a girl's
present."

Their hearts ached a little, as they chose a wonderful little wash-tub
and board, with a clothes-horse to match. How Polly's eyes would have
shone at these!

Meantime, Ned mused over his mother's tears and her strangely kind
tones, and thought: "I wonder if she's going to be as good to me as
she was to Polly! I hated to hear Mamie talk about Santa Claus. Polly
used to talk just that way, and we did have such good times. I used to
get skates and things at Christmas, but now I get some handkerchiefs
or a lot of shirts! It makes me mad." Then Ned fell asleep, and so
the mother found him. She woke him gently and he went off to bed,
bewildered by more kind words.

Morning dawned and Ned hurried down to light the fire in the kitchen,
but he went no further than the sitting-room. There was a sled,--a
splendid one,--a pair of skates, and books! He put his hands in his
pockets to take a long stare, and felt something strange in one of
them. Why! There was a beautiful knife!

Mother came in and watched his face, but at sight of her the boy
fairly broke down. Laying his head on her shoulder, "It's like Polly
coming back," he said.

And so it was, and so it continued to be.

[Illustration: BOGGS SHOULD NOT HAVE HAD HIS PHOTOGRAPH TAKEN ON
THANKSGIVING DAY, AND EATEN A HEARTY DINNER AFTERWARD.]

THE LORD MAYOR OF LONDON'S SHOW.

BY JENNIE A. OWEN.

"Aunt Jennie," said