s Olivia agreed to this, he caught up his hat
and vanished.

When everything was safely stowed away, and Martha had been made
supremely happy by the gift of two mince pies for her mother, and had
trotted off red in the face with excitement, Olivia busied herself in
getting the supper ready. The unsightly remains of a cold shoulder of
mutton had been transformed into tempting rissoles. Olivia always
treated her husband to a hot supper on Christmas Eve. Potatoes cooked
in their coats, and a couple of Deborah's mince pies, finished off the
_menu_, to which Marcus did ample justice. Afterwards he hung up their
holly, and then Olivia fetched her work-basket, and Marcus went on with
the novel that he was reading aloud, and both of them looked at the
clock in amazement when Martha's modest ring told them the evening was
over.

When Marcus put on his new great-coat the next morning, he shrugged his
shoulders as he opened the front-door. Instead of the frost he had
expected, the icy coldness of the air and the heavy aspect of the
wintry sky were premonitory signs of a snow-storm.

"It is hardly fit for you to go out," he said, as Olivia joined him,
but she only smiled at him, her vigorous young strength was proof
against the cold.

"We must hurry, Marcus," she said, briskly, "or we shall be late, and I
want to enjoy my Christmas service," for she had already arranged to
take care of Dot during the morning, while Martha went to church.
Marcus had his rounds, and would fetch her in time for the early dinner
at Maybrick Villas.

The quiet service in the warm, well-lighted church was very soothing
and refreshing. As Olivia knelt beside her husband, her heart swelled
with thankfulness for countless blessings. "I have not deserved to be
so happy," she said to herself, as she thought of her two treasures.

Martha had breakfast ready for them on their return, and Olivia hurried
upstairs to take off her hat. She was just stepping into the
dining-room, when Marcus caught hold of her, and blindfolded her
playfully.

"No, you are not to look yet!" he said, teasingly. "There is a
surprise in store for you." But as he took his hands from her eyes,
she uttered a little cry of ecstasy.

On the breakfast-table, propped up with books, was a small framed
picture, the very cornfield, with the brown baby asleep under the
hedge, and the old terrier guarding it, that she had so admired. A
card, with Mr. Gaythorne's compliments an