th, "Apologize to Miss Merton at once, Miss Dean, for
disturbing her," and Marjorie said, with uplifted chin and resentful
eyes, "I am sorry you thought I whispered, Miss Merton, for I did not
open my lips." Something in the proud carriage of the girl's head caused
Miss Archer to divine the truth of the firm statement, and she said,
more gently, "Very well, you are excused, Miss Dean; but I do not wish
to hear again that you have failed in courtesy to your teachers. This is
not the first time I have received such reports of you."

With a steady, reproachful look at Miss Merton, whose shifting eyes
refused to meet hers, Marjorie walked from the room, ready to burst into
tears, and when the all but interminable afternoon was ended, hurried
home to the shelter of her faithful captain's arms and poured forth her
grief and wrongs.

But the notice of the lost pin posted on the bulletin board brought
forth no trace of the vanished butterfly. Marjorie made a valiant effort
to thrust aside her heavy sense of loss and allow the spirit of
Christmas to enter her heart. She had promised Constance her help in
arranging Santa Claus' visit to Charlie, and, when on Christmas eve, at
a little after seven o'clock she set out for the Stevens' weighed down
by numerous festively-wrapped, be-ribboned packages, she was filled with
that quiet exaltation that attends the performance of a good deed and
happier than she had been for several days.

"Shh!" Constance met her at the door, a warning finger on her lips.

"Hasn't he gone to sleep yet?" asked Marjorie, sliding into the house in
mouse-like fashion.

"Yes, but I thought he never would," returned Constance, with a relieved
sigh. "What do you think? Father is playing at the theatre to-night for
the first time. The pianist is ill. The leader of the orchestra was here
this afternoon to see if father would take his place. We can never be
grateful enough to you, Marjorie, for having father and Uncle John play
at your party."

"Let's talk about Charlie's little wagon," proposed Marjorie, quickly.
"Nora popped and strung a lot of corn for me. It's in this bag. Do tell
me where I can put the rest of this armful of things."

Constance made a place on one end of an old velvet couch for them.

"This is yours." Marjorie flourished a wide, flat package tied with
long, graceful loops of narrow pale blue ribbon. "I tied it with blue
because that's your color. Don't you dare peep at it until to-morr