ibs with his locust, that if it had been the week before he might
have "run him in" for having the thing in his possession. As it
happened, Mr. Stein was busy and not to be seen, and Mike went home
between hope and fear, with his doubtful prize.

There was a crowd at the door of the tenement, and Mike saw, before he
had reached it, running, that it clustered about an ambulance that
was backed up to the sidewalk. Just as he pushed his way through the
throng it drove off, its clanging gong scattering the people right and
left. A little girl sat weeping on the top step of the stoop. To her
Mike turned for information.

"Susie, what's up?" he asked, confronting her with his armful of
papers. "Who's got hurted?"

"It's papa," sobbed the girl. "He ain't hurted. He's sick, and he was
took that bad he had to go, an' to-morrer is Christmas, an'--oh,
Mike!"

It is not the fashion of Essex Street to slop over. Mike didn't. He
just set his mouth to a whistle and took a turn down the hall to
think. Susie was his chum. There were seven in her flat; in his only
four, including two that made wages. He came back from his trip with
his mind made up.

"Suse," he said, "come on in. You take this, Suse, see! an' let the
kids have their Christmas. Mr. Stein give it to me. It's a little one,
but if it ain't all right I'll take it back and get one that is good.
Go on, now, Suse, you hear?" And he was gone.

There was a Christmas tree that night in Susie's flat, with candles
and apples and shining gold, but the little dollar did not pay for it.
That rested securely in the purse of the charity visitor who had come
that afternoon, just at the right time, as it proved. She had heard
the story of Mike and his sacrifice, and had herself given the
children a one-dollar bill for the coupon. They had their Christmas,
and a joyful one, too, for the lady went up to the hospital and
brought back word that Susie's father would be all right with rest and
care, which he was now getting. Mike came in and helped them "sack"
the tree when the lady was gone. He gave three more whoops for Mr.
Stein, three for the lady, and three for the hospital doctor to even
things up. Essex Street was all right that night.

"Do you know, professor," said that learned man's wife, when, after
supper, he had settled down in his easy-chair to admire the Noah's ark
and the duckses' babies and the rest, all of which had arrived safely
by express ahead of him and were waitin