ew the thin sheets from the envelope in feverish haste.

As he did so, a folded note fell from among them unseen by Ronnie, and
dropped to the floor close to Aubrey's foot.

Ronnie began reading; but black spots danced before his eyes, and
Helen's beautiful clear writing zig-zagged up and down the page.

Presently his vision cleared a little and he read more easily.

Suddenly he laughed, a short, rather mirthless, laugh.

"What's up?" inquired Aubrey Treherne.

"Oh, nothing much; only I suppose I'm in for a lecture again! Helen
says: 'Ronald'--" Ronnie lifted his eyes from the paper. "What a
nuisance it is to own that kind of name. As a small boy I was always
'Ronnie' when people were pleased, and 'Ronald' if I was in for a
wigging. The feeling of it sticks to you all your life."

"Of course it does," said Aubrey sympathetically. "Beastly hard lines.
Well? Helen says 'Ronald'--?"

Ronnie's eyes sought the paper again; but once more the black spots
danced in a wild shower. He rubbed his eyes and went on reading.

"'Ronald, I shall have something to tell you when you get home, which
will make a great difference to this Christmas, and to all
Christmas-times to come. I will not put it into a letter. I will wait
until you are here, and I can say it.'"

"What can it be?" questioned Aubrey.

"Oh, I know," said Ronnie, unsteadily--the floor was becoming soft and
sandy again. "I have heard it all before. She always thinks me
extravagant at Christmas, and objects to her old people being given
champagne and other seasonable good things. I have heard--heard it--all
before. There was no need to write about it. And when she--when she says
it, I shall jolly well tell her that a--that a--a fellow can do as he
likes with his own earnings."

"I should," said Aubrey Treherne.

Ronald went on reading, in silence.

Aubrey's eye was upon the folded sheet of paper on the floor.

Suddenly Ronnie said: "Hullo! I'm to have it after all! Listen to this.
'P.S.--On second thoughts, now you are so nearly home, I would rather
you knew what I have to say, before your return; so I am enclosing with
this a pencil note I wrote some weeks ago. _Ronnie, we will have a
Christmas-tree this Christmas_.' Well, I never!" said Ronnie. "That's
not a very wild thing in the way of extravagance, is it? But it's a
concession. I have wanted a Christmas-tree each Christmas. But Helen
said you couldn't have a Christmas-tree in a home where there were no