a fine thing then, and put a pretty garnet
ring on Hanny's finger.

Hanny guessed what the word had been. Mother was going to bring Steve
and Dolly down to dinner. Dolly had changed her mind, for she had said
she could not come. That was what they were smiling about.

At ten Stephen brought mother down in the sleigh, and they were more
mysterious than ever.

Peggy and the little girl must bundle up and go back with him, for he
had such a wonderful Christmas present to show them.

"But why didn't you bring Dolly and stay to dinner? And oh, Mother!
Christmas morning wasn't splendid at all without you!" said the little
girl, clinging to her.

Mrs. Underhill stooped and kissed her and said in a full, tremulous sort
of voice:

"Run and get your hood, dear, and don't keep Stephen waiting."

The horses tossed their heads and whinnied as if they too, said, "Don't
keep us waiting." The sun was shining and all the air seemed infused
with joy, though it was a sharp winter day. The weather knew its
business fifty years ago and didn't sandwich whiffs of spring between
snow-banks. And the children were blowing on tin and wooden horns, and
wishing everybody Merry Christmas as they ran around with the reddest of
cheeks.

Steve took Hanny on his lap. What did make him so laughing and
mysterious? He insisted that Hanny should guess, and then kept saying,
"Oh, you're cold, cold, cold as an icehouse! You should have put on your
guessing cap," and the little girl felt quite teased.

They stopped down-stairs to get good and warm and take off their wraps.
Then Stephen led them up to the front room. It was a kind of library and
sitting-room, but no one was there. In the window stood a beautiful vase
of flowers. Hanny ran over to that. Roses at Christmastide were rare
indeed. "Here," said Stephen, catching her arm gently.

She turned to the opposite corner. There was an old-fashioned mahogany
cradle, black with age, and polished until it shone like glass. It was
lined overhead with soft light-blue silk, and had lying across it a
satin coverlet that had grown creamy with age, full of embroidered
flowers dull and soft with their many years of bloom.

On the pillow lay her brother's Christmas gift that had come while the
bells were still ringing out their message first heard on the plains of
Judea.

"Oh!" with a soft, wondering cry. She knelt beside the cradle that had
come from Holland a century and a half ago, and held many a Bee