other
Christmases, what would you think?"

Her mother laughed. "Well," she said, "I suppose I should think I was
going to have twice as many presents as usual."

Margaret drew a long breath. "Would you?" she asked, thoughtfully. "Two
pairs of skates, and two sets of furs, and two boxes of handkerchiefs,
and two pink kimonos, and six books; that would be twice as many
presents as last year. But what does one little girl want with twos? Now
if I was twins--"

The Pretty Aunt laughed. "Let me explain it to her," she said.
"Margaret, how would you like two Christmas trees, one for everybody,
just as usual, with your presents on it, and one little tree, all for
yourself, with more presents? Would you like that for a change?"

Margaret said she thought she would, but it seemed very queer. Two
trees, and only one little girl! Now if she really had been twins--

"Twins, indeed!" said the Other Aunt.

"Just wait till you see, and perhaps you will be glad there's only one
of you!" And everybody laughed again except Margaret, who thought it all
very queer indeed.

When Christmas morning came she jumped up in a hurry and waked every one
up calling out, "Merry Christmas!" and then she danced with impatience
because it took them so long to get ready. But at last the doors of the
parlor were thrown open and she rushed in. There stood the great,
beautiful tree, hung with tinsel and bright balls, and twinkling with
beautiful lights, and on its branches were bundles and bundles, tied
with red ribbons and holly, and on the floor were more bundles, and she
forgot about the little tree she had meant to look for. But by and by,
when she had opened all her presents, and made a pile of them on the
piano, and thanked everybody for them, she whispered:

"Mother, was there to be a little tree, all for me?"

"Why, of course," said her mother, smiling, "we nearly forgot, didn't
we? Suppose you look behind the library door?"

Margaret ran and looked, and, sure enough, there was the tree, but such
a queer one! It was small, and had no candles and no ornaments. The
corner was dark and she could not see very well, but it seemed to be
hung with things that looked like dust-pans and whisk-brooms. She stood
looking at it, wondering if it was all a joke.

Just then her father saw her and came to pull the tree out where she
could see it, and, sure enough, there was a dust-pan tied on with a red
tape, and a whisk-broom with another red tape, and