elf, but as she opened her lips to
speak, she saw Chrystobel's eyes fixed wistfully upon her own, and
suddenly there rose before her a vision of her room-mate's
self-sacrifice in electing to spend the holidays at school when she knew
what pleasures would have been hers at her own beautiful home. She
hesitated, looked at Carrie's eager face, read the longing in Bertha's
eyes, saw its reflection in Grace and Vera, and answered, "I choose all
of you. What are you going to do about it?"

"Draw lots, you dear little Christmas queen!" cried Bertha promptly.
"You are the most popular girl in school, Kitty Catt. Just see how we
fight over you! Here are some slips of paper from our guessing game.
Take your turn. The two longest, the two middle and the two shortest are
mates."

There on the stairs they drew their fate--Tabitha and Chrystobel, Grace
and Bertha, Carrie and Vera. Then with a merry laugh over the result,
they linked arms and marched up to bed, with one exception a little
disappointed, perhaps, but happy nevertheless.

The lights went out, five pair of sleepy eyes closed in slumber, the
great city grew still, but Tabitha lay awake in her narrow bed looking
up into the star-lit sky with bright, sparkling, happy eyes which held
no trace of sorrow or longing, as she whispered reverently:

"O little town of Bethlehem,
How still we see thee lie!
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep
The silent hours go by."

She thought of all the joys the day had brought her, such unexpected
pleasures that it seemed as if her heart would burst with gladness; she
thought of the girls who had done so much to give her this beautiful
holiday; she thought of the scene on the stairs, and of Bertha's words,
which, without a particle of conceit, she felt were the truth; she
thought of Tom away at college, and wondered if his holiday had been as
delightful as hers; she thought of the friends at Silver Bow, of Aunt
Maria in the East, of the stern father keeping lonely vigil on the
desert, and here her thoughts lingered. Had he received the calendar she
sent him, and was he glad? What had prompted him to buy her the lovely
gifts the express box had contained? Was he, after all, growing to be
like jolly Mr. Carson? His remembrance had been the crowning touch of
the day. How could she ever thank him? An idea suddenly popped into her
mind as if in answer to her question, but she frowned at it, shook her
head, protested that s