dark tragedy of his sad and sorry manhood, he lost
all faith in lucky raisins. Not for three years did Sir Walter
Raleigh--whom both the Princes secretly admired--obtain release from the
Tower, and ere three more years were past his head fell as a forfeit to
the stern demands of Spain. And Prince Charles often declared that
naught indeed could come from meddling with luck saving burnt fingers,
"even," he said, "as came to me that profitless night when I sought a
boon for snatching the lucky raisin from good Master Sandy's Christmas
snapdragon."

FOOTNOTE:

[V] This story was first published in _Wide Awake_, vol. 26.

XXXI

A CHRISTMAS FAIRY[W]

JOHN STRANGE WINTER

IT was getting very near to Christmas time, and all the boys at Miss
Ware's school were talking about going home for the holidays.

"I shall go to the Christmas festival," said Bertie Fellows, "and my
mother will have a party, and my Aunt will give another. Oh! I shall
have a splendid time at home."

"My Uncle Bob is going to give me a pair of skates," remarked Harry
Wadham.

"My father is going to give me a bicycle," put in George Alderson.

"Will you bring it back to school with you?" asked Harry.

"Oh! yes, if Miss Ware doesn't say no."

"Well, Tom," cried Bertie, "where are you going to spend your holidays?"

"I am going to stay here," answered Tom in a very forlorn voice.

"Here--at school--oh, dear! Why can't you go home?"

"I can't go home to India," answered Tom.

"Nobody said you could. But haven't you any relatives anywhere?"

Tom shook his head. "Only in India," he said sadly.

"Poor fellow! That's hard luck for you. I'll tell you what it is, boys,
if I couldn't go home for the holidays, especially at Christmas--I think
I would just sit down and die."

"Oh, no, you wouldn't," said Tom. "You would get ever so homesick, but
you wouldn't die. You would just get through somehow, and hope something
would happen before next year, or that some kind fairy would----"

"There are no fairies nowadays," said Bertie. "See here, Tom, I'll write
and ask my mother to invite you to go home with me for the holidays."

"Will you really?"

"Yes, I will. And if she says yes, we shall have such a splendid time.
We live in London, you know, and have lots of parties and fun."

"Perhaps she will say no?" suggested poor little Tom.

"My mother isn't the kind that says no," Bertie declared loudly.

In a few days' time a letter arrived