le dreamed of. "Catch me ever
going amongst 'em again,--an overbearing lot of city folks," he was
saying to himself, when, patter, patter, patter, round the turn of the
road came the stout little pony, and before the boy could make a
movement to get away, Elsie Lloyd had jumped from the wagon, and stood
in front of him.

"I've come to ask you to go back with us, and forgive me for being such
a horrid little cat to you. I didn't understand. I thought--" and then
in a perfect jumble of words Elsie went on, and poured forth her
contrition and explanation, at the same time introducing Jimmy Barrows,
who knew just what to say, and said it with such effect that Royal's
spirits went up with a bound, and almost before he knew to what he had
consented, he was sitting on the little back seat of the phaeton,
talking with these "city folks" as if they were his best friends, as
they turned out to be.

All this happened four or five years ago, and to-day where do you
suppose Royal Purcel is, and what do you suppose he is doing? In Mr.
Carr's mills, learning to pick and buy wool?

Not he. He is in Paris with Jimmy Barrows, studying hard, and supporting
himself by making business illustrations for various newspapers. It is
humble work, but it serves for his support while he is preparing for
higher things; and the "higher things" are not far off, for two or three
of his sketches in oils have attracted the attention of the critics, and
he has furnished a set of drawings for a child's book that has been well
paid for and well spoken of. And Jimmy Barrows wrote home to Tom Lloyd
the other day,--

"Royal is going to be a howling success, as I always prophesied; but
what a time your uncle and I had to persuade his family of this
possibility, and to get him off from that wool-picking! But I guess they
began to believe we were right when this spoiled wool-picker wrote them
last week that he'd paid the last cent of his indebtedness to Mr. Lloyd.
Houp-la!"

"'A howling success'! And it's all through me," laughed Elsie, as she
read this portion of Jimmy's letter; "for if I hadn't eaten humble-pie,
and run after Master Royal that morning, he would not have met Jimmy
Barrows, and might have been wool-picking to this day. Yes; it's all
through me and my humble-pie. Houp-la!"

MAJOR MOLLY'S CHRISTMAS PROMISE.

CHAPTER I.

"Never had a Christmas present?"

"No, never."

"Why, it's just dreadful! Well, there's one thing,