iday, having a full remembrance of the pastor's
outer man, and of his wife's forgetfulness of herself, had sent for him
a full black suit, and for his wife a handsome dark dress, as well as a
warm fur cape. A little girl, who had learned to remember that there
were other people beside herself to be thought of in the world, had
selected books and toys for the children. The orphan girl had not been
forgotten. She looked with astonishment at the substantial winter coat
that had been marked with her name, and wondered who could have thought
of _her_. There was still a beautiful, closely-woven white basket, with
a firm handle, at one side of the box. It was lifted out and opened.
There were all sorts of things--potted, canned, dried, and preserved, to
make, with good bread and butter, a nice evening meal for an unexpected
guest; a most welcome present in a family where hospitality never
failed, and yet the larder was often scantily provided. At the bottom
of the basket lay a card, on which was written, "From a humble friend,
in remembrance of 'the basket.'"

The tears rushed to the eyes of the curate and his wife, and their hands
met, while their thoughts were with the little old cottage saint now in
heaven, and a prayer was sent up for the daughter that she might
continue to walk in the ways of peace.

"O mamma, what a good basket to keep all your mending in!" said one of
the boys.

"Just what I will do," said the mother; "I shall like to have it always
near me."

"Do put on your new suit, papa," urged the children. He vanished into
his room close at hand, and soon reappeared transformed into a new and
complete edition of his old self, as it were, in a fine fresh binding.

The suit was not a perfect fit, but hung less loosely about him than his
wonted best garments, made long, long ago.

The pastor playfully walked up and down the room with a consequential
air, to the great amusement of the children. "You will wear your new
suit to-morrow!" they exclaimed, one after another, as in the refrain of
a song.

"On New-Year's Day, perhaps," said the father. "For to-morrow I like my
old suit best; for we are to remember then how the loving Lord of all
humbled Himself to be the Babe of Bethlehem."

There were a few words of prayer and thanksgiving, and then the family,
with a kiss all round, parted for the night.

Perchance the angels who sang again the Christmas song, "On earth peace,
good will toward men," lingered over