s feet. The bowed figure and
knotted hands, and the peaceful look in the wrinkled face were
wonderfully striking, the patient eyes turned upwards were gazing at
the rainbow. "'Tis a love token, I reckon," were the words written
underneath the sketch.

Olivia could almost hear them through the parted lips; ruins and
thistles and weeds and a broken storm, and beyond them the message of
peace, written on the bright tints of the rainbow, for one simple heart
to read.

"Aunt Madge would understand that," she said to herself; "she would
like that picture best, but this is just as beautiful to my mind."

The second sketch was equally suggestive; it was a cornfield with
poppies growing in it; under the hedge in the cool shade lay a brown
baby asleep. A dish tied up in a blue handkerchief and a stone bottle
lay beside the infant; an old terrier kept watch over them both.

"Keeping watch and ward" was the title of this picture; it was
certainly very well painted. A breeze seemed rippling through the corn
in the nook where the child lay; there were festoons of honeysuckle and
dog-roses, and long sprays of traveller's joy. The stumpy grey terrier
sitting erect at his post of duty was full of significance and
individuality. The mother was evidently among the reapers in the far
distance.

"One would never be tired of looking at that cornfield," observed
Olivia, and though Mr. Gaythorne smiled at her enthusiasm, he would not
spoil her enjoyment by pointing out to her one or two defects that he
had already noticed.

By-and-by he called her to pour out the coffee--Mr. Gaythorne never
indulged in afternoon tea.

"This is not much like Christmas weather," he said, looking out at the
cold mizzling rain; "the forecasts promise a change, however. I
suppose I must not ask if you dislike Christmas, it would not be a fair
question at your age."

"No, indeed; I love it dearly. I have only had one sad Christmas--the
year dear mother died--it is my birthday too, that makes it doubly
festive. I am so glad I was born on such a beautiful day; that is why
my second name is Noel."

"And you hold high festival on it?"

"Well, we cannot do much. Marcus and I always go to the early service,
that is how we begin the day, and then he always has some little
present on the breakfast table. It is the one day in the year we
always dine with Aunt Madge; she is such an invalid, you see, that very
little tires her; but on Christmas Day, we