ll, and knocked and knocked. Finally Miss Monroe came, so we made
bold to walk right in. Where is the only and original fruit cake, Ida?
My mouth has been watering all day."

"The other Ida Mitchell is probably entertaining her friends at this
moment with my fruit cake," said Ida, with a little laugh.

Then she told the whole story.

"I'm so sorry to disappoint you," she concluded, "but I simply
couldn't tell that poor, lonely child that the cake wasn't intended
for her. I've brought all the goodies home with me that I could buy,
and we'll have to do the best we can without the fruit cake."

Their "best" proved to be a very good thing. They had a jolly New
Year's Eve, and Miss Monroe sparkled and entertained most brilliantly.
They kept their celebration up until twelve to welcome the new year
in, and then they bade Ida good night. But Miss Monroe lingered for a
moment behind the others to say softly:

"I want to tell you how good and sweet I think it was of you to give
up your cake to the other Ida. That little bit of unselfishness was a
good guerdon for your new year."

And Ida, radiant-faced at this praise from her idol, answered
heartily:

"I'm afraid I'm anything but unselfish, Miss Monroe. But I mean to try
to be more this coming year and think a little about the girls outside
of my own little set who may be lonely or discouraged. The other Ida
Mitchell isn't going to have to depend on that fruit cake alone for
comfort and encouragement for the next twelve months."

In the Old Valley

The man halted on the crest of the hill and looked sombrely down into
the long valley below. It was evening, and although the hills around
him were still in the light the valley was already filled with kindly,
placid shadows. A wind that blew across it from the misty blue sea
beyond was making wild music in the rugged firs above his head as he
stood in an angle of the weather-grey longer fence, knee-deep in
bracken. It had been by these firs he had halted twenty years ago,
turning for one last glance at the valley below, the home valley which
he had never seen since. But then the firs had been little more than
vigorous young saplings; they were tall, gnarled trees now, with
lichened trunks, and their lower boughs were dead. But high up their
tops were green and caught the saffron light of the west. He
remembered that when a boy he had thought there was nothing more
beautiful than the evening sunshine falling athwart