Lucy, but was glad
that people would probably think it short for Caroline.

Perhaps because she was born in holiday time, Carol was a very happy
baby. Of course, she was too tiny to understand the joy of
Christmas-tide, but people say there is everything in a good beginning,
and she may have breathed-in unconsciously the fragrance of evergreens
and holiday dinners; while the peals of sleigh-bells and the laughter
of happy children may have fallen upon her baby ears and wakened in
them a glad surprise at the merry world she had come to live in.

Her cheeks and lips were as red as holly berries; her hair was for all
the world the color of a Christmas candle-flame; her eyes were bright
as stars; her laugh like a chime of Christmas bells, and her tiny hands
forever outstretched in giving.

Such a generous little creature you never saw! A spoonful of bread and
milk had always to be taken by Mama or nurse before Carol could enjoy
her supper; and whatever bit of cake or sweetmeat found its way into
her pretty fingers, it was straightway broken in half and shared with
Donald, Paul or Hugh; and, when they made believe nibble the morsel
with affected enjoyment, she would clap her hands and crow with
delight. "Why does she do it?" asked Donald, thoughtfully; "None of us
boys ever did." "I hardly know," said Mama, catching her darling to
her heart, "except that she is a little Christmas child, and so she has
a tiny share of the blessedest birthday the world ever saw!"

II.

DROOPING WINGS.

It was December, ten years later. Carol had seen nine Christmas trees
lighted on her birthdays, one after another; nine times she had
assisted in the holiday festivities of the household, though in her
babyhood her share of the gayeties was somewhat limited.

For five years, certainly, she had hidden presents for Mama and Papa in
their own bureau drawers, and harbored a number of secrets sufficiently
large to burst a baby's brain, had it not been for the relief gained by
whispering them all to Mama, at night, when she was in her crib, a
proceeding which did not in the least lessen the value of a secret in
her innocent mind.

For five years she had heard "'Twas the night before Christmas," and
hung up a scarlet stocking many sizes too large for her, and pinned a
sprig of holly on her little white night gown, to show Santa Claus that
she was a "truly" Christmas child, and dreamed of fur-coated saints and
toy-packs and reindeer,