ren were sitting
quietly in the room for fear of waking the stranger who had fallen
asleep upon the sofa.

"I believe I hear his bells now!" Stephen cried, as he rushed to the
door. Presently he came running back, his face aglow with excitement.
"A bundle, Mother!" he shouted. "A big bundle! Come and help me."

The confusion thus made awakened Sinclair, who opened his eyes just in
time to see a good-sized bundle carried into the room, securely bound
with stout cords.

"There must be some mistake," exclaimed the surprised woman to the
mailman who had entered.

"No, mum," he replied. "It's yours all right. I found it at the shore
where a freightin' team left it. I don't generally carry such things.
But says I to myself, 'That's fer Widder Bean, and she's goin' to have
it to-night if Tim Harking knows anything.' So thar 'tis. I must be
off now. A merry Christmas to ye all," and with that the big-hearted
man hurried away.

"Dear me!" cried Mrs. Bean. "What can it be, and who could have sent
it?"

"Let's open it, mother," Steve suggested. "Mebbe we'll find out then."

Together they all set to work, and after much tugging and labour the
knots were loosened and the bundle fell apart.

Then what a sight met their eyes. Clothes of various sizes and quality
were neatly piled together; complete suits for the boys; dresses for
Betty and Dora, and another for their mother, besides a good supply of
underwear for the whole family.

"Well, bless my heart!" Mrs. Bean exclaimed. "Who in the world has
done this? There must be some mis----"

"A doll!" shrieked Dora.

"A knife!" yelled Stephen, as he seized the precious treasure, felt its
keen edge and examined the handle.

Then a paper fluttered out of the bundle and fell on the floor at Mrs.
Bean's feet. As she picked it up and read the contents, a light broke
over her puzzled face, and her hand trembled.

"What's the matter, Mother?" Jimmy asked, noting her agitation.

"Nothing, my boy," she replied. "Only I'm so overcome at the good Lord
giving us such kind friends on this Christmas Eve. This is such a
lovely letter from Miss Sinclair, and she says that all these things
are from the Helping Hand Society of St. Saviour's Church. Isn't it
good of them?"

A groan from the sofa startled her.

"Is your ankle worse, sir?" she enquired, going to the side of the
afflicted man.

"Y-y-es," Sinclair replied; "but I feel better now. I didn't mean to
distur