little Butlers, of whom there were seven.
He tied a red ribbon around the sealed package and hung it on the
tree.

After it was all over he went upstairs and tried to read "Dombey &
Son." But a mist came over his blue eyes and his vision carried him
far beyond the printed page. He was not thinking of Nellie, but of his
old mother, who had never forgotten to send him a Christmas present.
Ah, if she were alive he would not be wondering to-night why Santa
Claus had passed him by.

He rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, closed "Dombey & Son" for the
night, and went to bed, turning his thoughts to the row of tiny
stockings that hung from the mantelpiece downstairs--for Phoebe had
put to use all that she could find--and then let them drift on through
space to an apartment near Central Park, where Kris Kringle had
delivered during the day a little packet containing the brooch he had
purchased for his wife out of the money he had preserved from the sale
of his watch some weeks before.

He was glad he had sent Nellie a present.

Bright and early the next morning he was up to have a final look at
the tree before Phoebe came down. A blizzard was blowing furiously;
the windows were frosted; the house was cheerless. He built the fires
in the grates and sat about with his shoulders hunched up till the
merry crackle of the coals put warmth into his veins. The furnace! He
thought of it in time, and hurried to the basement to replenish the
fires. They were out. He had forgotten them the night before. Bridget
found him there later on, trying to start the kindling in the two
furnaces.

"I clean forgot 'em last night," he said, sheepishly.

"I don't wonder, sor," said Bridget, quite genially for a cold
morning. "Do you be after going upstairs this minute, sor. I'll have
them roaring in two shakes av a lamb's tail. Mebby there's good news
for yez up there. Annie's at the front door this minute, taking a
telegram from the messenger bye, sor. Merry Christmas to ye, sor."

"Merry Christmas, Bridget!" cried he, gaily. His heart had leaped at
the news she brought. A telegram from Nellie! Hurrah! He rushed
upstairs without brushing the coal dust from his hands.

The boy was waiting for his tip. Harvey gave him a quarter and wished
him a merry Christmas.

"A miserable day to be out," said he, undecided whether to ask the
half-frozen lad to stay and have a bite of breakfast or to let him go
out into the weather.

"It's nothin' when you