the pink silk
ribbons which had been their gifts.

"_You_ decorated the school," cried Maggie excitedly. "I know you did.
I told Minnie it was you the minute I saw it."

"You're dreaming, child," said Frank.

"Oh, no, I'm not," retorted Maggie shrewdly, "and wasn't Matt Dickey
mad this morning! Oh, it was such fun. I think you are two real nice
boys and so does Minnie--don't you Minnie?"

Minnie nodded gravely. Evidently Maggie did the talking in their
partnership.

"This has been a splendid examination," said Maggie, drawing a long
breath. "Real Christmassy, you know. We never had such a good time
before."

"Well, it has paid, don't you think?" asked Frank, as we drove home.

"Rather," I answered.

It did "pay" in other ways than the mere pleasure of it. There was
always a better feeling between the Roaders and the Hillites
thereafter. The big brothers of the little girls, to whom our
Christmas surprise had been such a treat, thought it worthwhile to
bury the hatchet, and quarrels between the two villages became things
of the past.

The Dissipation of Miss Ponsonby

We hadn't been very long in Glenboro before we managed to get
acquainted with Miss Ponsonby. It did not come about in the ordinary
course of receiving and returning calls, for Miss Ponsonby never
called on anybody; neither did we meet her at any of the Glenboro
social functions, for Miss Ponsonby never went anywhere except to
church, and very seldom there. Her father wouldn't let her. No, it
simply happened because her window was right across the alleyway from
ours. The Ponsonby house was next to us, on the right, and between us
were only a fence, a hedge of box, and a sprawly acacia tree that
shaded Miss Ponsonby's window, where she always sat sewing--patchwork,
as I'm alive--when she wasn't working around the house. Patchwork
seemed to be Miss Ponsonby's sole and only dissipation of any kind.

We guessed her age to be forty-five at least, but we found out
afterward that we were mistaken. She was only thirty-five. She was
tall and thin and pale, one of those drab-tinted persons who look as
if they had never felt a rosy emotion in their lives. She had any
amount of silky, fawn-coloured hair, always combed straight back from
her face, and pinned in a big, tight bun just above her neck--the last
style in the world for any woman with Miss Ponsonby's nose to adopt.
But then I doubt if Miss Ponsonby had any idea what her nose was
really l