to him
eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash
with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit.

"Isn't it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You'll have
to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I
want to see how it looks on it."

Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hand
under the back of his head and smiled.

"Dell," said he, "let's put our Christmas presents away and keep 'em a
while. They're too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get
the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on."

The magi, as you know, were wise men--wonderfully wise men--who brought
gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving
Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones,
possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And
here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two
foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other
the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise
of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were
the wisest. Of all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest.
Everywhere they are the wisest. They are the magi.

BOOTH TARKINGTON

A Reward of Merit

I

Penrod and Sam made a gloomy discovery one morning in mid-October. All
the week had seen amiable breezes and fair skies until Saturday, when,
about breakfast-time, the dome of heaven filled solidly with gray vapor
and began to drip. The boys' discovery was that there is no justice
about the weather.

They sat in the carriage-house of the Schofields' empty stable; the
doors upon the alley were open, and Sam and Penrod stared torpidly at
the thin but implacable drizzle which was the more irritating because
there was barely enough of it to interfere with a number of things they
had planned to do.

"Yes; this is _nice_!" Sam said, in a tone of plaintive sarcasm. "This
is a _perty_ way to do!" (He was alluding to the personal spitefulness
of the elements.) "I'd like to know what's the sense of it--ole sun
pourin' down every day in the week when nobody needs it, then cloud up
and rain all Saturday! My father said it's goin' to be a three days'
rain."

"Well, nobody with any sense cares if it rains Sunday and Monday," said
Penrod. "I wouldn't care if it rained every Sunday as long as I lived