t a bit too near, the children thought, though even they had
a great deal to do, and found the days all too short.

Miss Brown was full of suggestions for Christmas gifts, and most
patient with awkward fingers, and the M.Ks. were very happy over the
things she was helping them to make. Now, on top of all this they had
found something else to talk about and work for.

One day when Bess and Louise were in the corner confectionery, the
wife of the proprietor, as she handed them their package, held out a
small bundle of edging, asking them to take it home and show it to
their aunt. It was made, she said, by a young Italian girl who, though
a cripple, was trying to support herself and some younger brothers and
sisters.

As the trimming was pretty and strong, Mrs. Howard bought some for the
children's aprons, and finding the girl worthy, gave her other work,
which was carried back and forth by a little sister.

Louise saw this child waiting in the hall one Saturday morning, and
went down to talk to her. Tina was pretty, with great black eyes and
short dark curls, but Louise found her rather silent, for she was in
fact rather awed by her surroundings. The wide hall with its polished
floor and soft rugs seemed very grand to her unaccustomed eyes.

"I wish I could sew and embroider like your sister, then I could make
some money," said Louise.

Tina wondered why she wanted money, but only answered, "So do I."

"Bess and I have never enough money for Christmas. Is that what you
want it for?"

"No; I would give it to my father."

"Why, he wouldn't want it, would he? Hasn't he any money?"

Tina shook her head, and after some questioning she explained that her
father was a member of a small string band. He played the harp, she
said, and sometimes earned a good deal, but he had been sick, so he
lent his harp to a man who promised to keep his place for him and pay
him something besides. "But he was a bad man!" she exclaimed
vehemently, "for he broke the harp, and then ran away and would not
pay to have it mended; and now my father does not want to get well, he
is sick with sorrow."

"But can't he get it mended himself, or find the bad man and make him
pay for it?"

"It would cost a great deal of money,--fifteen dollars the music man
told my sister,--and the man who broke it has gone away to the South."

"I am so sorry," was all Louise could say, for their talk was
interrupted; but she ran upstairs immediately to tell Be