ing made by a few good men and women to alleviate their wretched
condition, to clothe them, teach them, and lift them into a better life.

"Ah, Charles," said Mrs. Raeburn, "what a sad, comfortless Christmas
many of those poor little creatures will have,--children as dear to
their parents as our little girl is to us. Only to think of it! cold,
hungry, ignorant, helpless, and hopeless. It is dreadful."

"Why, mamma," exclaimed Bessie, "won't they have any Christmas gifts?"

"No, darling; I fear many must be without all the good and pleasant
things by which we remind one another that our dear Lord's birthday has
come round again."

"What, mamma! No toys, no nuts, no candies?"

"None, my child."

"Why, then, how can they wish one another a _merry_ Christmas? I
should think they would all have a _crying_ Christmas together. I
should think they would feel as though _they_ had no Lord Jesus; as
though he only belonged to the rich people. And yet, mamma, he was
dreadful poor, and spent the first day of his life in a manger, with
cows and things; though, to be sure, he had beautiful presents, those
the wise old gentlemen that came from down East brought him, you know."

"Yes, dear, he was very poor, and in remembering him we should not
forget the poor around us, and should always be ready to assist, as far
as we can, the worthy and honest unfortunates who need our help. But
it is your bedtime. You will wish to be up bright and early to-morrow."

Bessie sprang up promptly, and kissed her father good night. At the
foot of the stairs she paused, and called him in her pretty imperious
way, and he came to her, like the good, obedient papa that he was.
Bessie kissed him again, and called him "a dear, handsome old darling,"
and then, with another last coquettish kiss through the balusters, she
bounded laughingly past her mamma, up the stairs, into her little room
and behind the door, from which point of vantage she emerged with a
terrific "boo!" intended to startle her mamma out of her senses,--but I
don't think it did.

Mrs. Raeburn, having heard her daughter repeat her simple prayer,
kissed her and returned to the library; and soon after the maid, having
seen her nicely in bed, and put everything in order for the morning,
left her quite alone. And then the wonderful scheme that had flashed
into her brain down stairs was thought over and resolutely arranged,
and a famous little plot of mischievous benevolence it wa