his was Rollo's first Christmas season in a great city and, although
he had begun to feel quite at home in the thoroughfares, he was
nevertheless greatly surprised to find so many folk abroad at such an
early hour.

He finally found himself in the portal of a magnificent shop in the
windows of which were beautiful oil paintings.

"The very thing!" thought Rollo. "Anabelle herself is so beautiful,
and she paints, too, herself--a little. It is a merry idea."

Everything within was very grand and gloomy, particularly the shop
attendants, who were tall young gentlemen in immaculate cut-away
coats.

"My favourite artist is Rockwell Kent," said Rollo. "He once painted
my father's barn--in a picture, of course. Have you anything by him
which would be suitable for a young lady?"

"I doubt it very much," said the gentleman, "but we shall see."

He then showed Rollo several pictures by his favourite artist, one in
particular which Rollo greatly admired.

"That is most beautiful!" said Rollo. "And what does it fetch?"

The gentleman looked puzzled before he said, "Oh, you mean the price.
Well, that is one of the most reasonable. It is only a thousand
dollars."

Alas! Everywhere Rollo turned he met with the same discouraging reply.
A tiny vial of perfume was supposed to fetch ten dollars; even single
blossoms of rare flowers were three dollars each.

It was a tired and disheartened Rollo who finally turned his footsteps
homeward, his dollar still sagging heavily in his pocket, as his heart
sagged heavily within.

And then a most surprising thing happened, for Rollo suddenly found
himself before the most beautiful shop he had ever seen, its windows
gleaming with brilliant wares and holiday decorations, and its
doorways, beneath a handsome red sign, breathing forth odours of the
utmost fragrance. But what fascinated our little hero most was a card
displayed in many places which stated "Nothing in this store over ten
cents."

[Illustration: "Can you not imagine Anabelle's joy when she opened all
these presents!"]

"Hurrah!" shouted Rollo.

It was a tired but happy little Rollo who emerged an hour later,
clutching his precious purchases in his arms, ten in all, and each to
be marked later, "To Anabelle from Rollo, with love and a Merry
Christmas."

For there, if you can believe me, Rollo found all the marvellous
things which he had so unsuccessfully endeavoured to purchase before,
a beautiful picture called _Spring