et with approbation appeared to encourage the
little tree. The change may have been imaginary, but from the moment it
passed into our possession the branches seemed less despondent, the
needles more erect.

"Will you put toys on it?" the youthful porter asked suddenly.

"Yes; it is for a sick boy--a boy who has fever. Have you ever had an
_arbre de Noel_?"

"_Jamais_," was his conclusive reply: the tone thereof suggesting that
that was a felicity quite beyond the range of possibility.

The tree secured, there began the comparatively difficult work of
finding the customary ornaments of glass and glitter to deck it. A
fruitless search had left us almost in despair, when, late on Monday
afternoon, we joyed to discover miniature candles of red, yellow, and
blue on the open-air stall in front of a toy-store. A rummage in the
interior of the shop procured candle clips, and a variety of glittering
bagatelles. Laden with treasure, we hurried back to the hotel, and began
the work of decoration in preparation for the morning.

During its short stay in our room at the hotel, the erstwhile despised
little tree met with an adulation that must have warmed the heart within
its rough stem. When nothing more than three coloured glass globes, a
gilded walnut, and a gorgeous humming-bird with wings and tail of spun
glass had been suspended by narrow ribbon from its branches, Rosine, the
pretty Swiss chambermaid, chancing to enter the room with letters, was
struck with admiration and pronounced it "tres belle!"

And Karl bringing in a fresh _panier_ of logs when the adorning was
complete, and silly little delightful baubles sparkled and twinkled from
every spray, putting down his burden, threw up his hands in amazement
and declared the _arbre de Noel_ "magnifique!"

This alien Christmas-tree had an element all its own. When we were
searching for knick-knacks the shops were full of tiny Holy Babes lying
cradled in waxen innocence in mangers of yellow corn. One of these
little effigies we had bought because they pleased us. And when, the
decoration of the tree being nearly finished, the tip of the centre stem
standing scraggily naked called for covering, what more fitting than
that the dear little Sacred _Bebe_ in his nest of golden straw should
have the place of honour?

It was late on Christmas Eve before our task was ended. But next morning
when Karl, carrying in our _petit dejeuner_, turned on the electric
light, and our anxious