r the oldest?"

"No; Sarah Maud is the oldest--she helps do the washing; and Peter is
the next. He is a dressmaker's boy."

"And which is the pretty little red-haired girl?"

"That's Kitty."

"And the fat youngster?"

"Baby Larry."

"And that freckled one?"

"Now, don't laugh--that's Peoria!"

"Carol, you are joking."

"No, really, Uncle dear. She was born in Peoria; that's all."

"And is the next boy Oshkosh?"

"No," laughed Carol, "the others are Susan, and Clement, and Eily, and
Cornelius."

"How did you ever learn all their names?"

"Well, I have what I call a 'window-school.' It is too cold now; but
in warm weather I am wheeled out on my little balcony, and the
Ruggleses climb up and walk along our garden fence, and sit down on the
roof of our carriage-house. That brings them quite near, and I read to
them and tell them stories; On Thanksgiving Day they came up for a few
minutes, it was quite warm at eleven o'clock, and we told each other
what we had to be thankful for; but they gave such queer answers that
Papa had to run away for fear of laughing; and I couldn't understand
them very well. Susan was thankful for 'TRUNKS,' of all things in the
world; Cornelius, for 'horse cars;' Kitty, for 'pork steak;' while
Clem, who is very quiet, brightened up when I came to him, and said he
was thankful for 'HIS LAME PUPPY.' Wasn't that pretty?"

"It might teach some of us a lesson, mightn't it, little girl?"

"That's what Mama said. Now I'm going to give this whole Christmas to
the Ruggleses; and, Uncle Jack, I earned part of the money myself."

"You, my bird; how?"

"Well, you see, it could not be my own, own Christmas if Papa gave me
all the money, and I thought to really keep Christ's birthday I ought
to do something of my very own; and so I talked with Mama. Of course
she thought of something lovely; she always does; Mama's head is just
brimming over with lovely thoughts, and all I have to do is ask, and
out pops the very one I want. This thought was, to let her write down,
just as I told her, a description of how a little girl lived in her own
room three years, and what she did to amuse herself; and we sent it to
a magazine and got twenty-five dollars for it. Just think!"

"Well, well," cried Uncle Jack, "my little girl a real author! And
what are you going to do with this wonderful 'own' money of yours?"

"I shall give the nine Ruggleses a grand Christmas dinner here in this
very room