THE CHRISTMAS GIFT THAT CAME TO RUPERT.

A STORY FOR LITTLE SOLDIERS.

It was the Christmas season in California,--a season of falling rain and
springing grasses. There were intervals when, through driving clouds and
flying scud, the sun visited the haggard hills with a miracle, and death
and resurrection were as one, and out of the very throes of decay a
joyous life struggled outward and upward. Even the storms that swept
down the dead leaves nurtured the tender buds that took their places.
There were no episodes of snowy silence; over the quickening fields the
farmer's ploughshare hard followed the furrows left by the latest rains.
Perhaps it was for this reason that the Christmas evergreens which
decorated the drawing-room took upon themselves a foreign aspect, and
offered a weird contrast to the roses, seen dimly through the windows,
as the southwest wind beat their soft faces against the panes.

"Now," said the Doctor, drawing his chair closer to the fire, and
looking mildly but firmly at the semicircle of flaxen heads around him,
"I want it distinctly understood before I begin my story, that I am not
to be interrupted by any ridiculous questions. At the first one I shall
stop. At the second, I shall feel it my duty to administer a dose of
castor-oil, all around. The boy that moves his legs or arms will be
understood to invite amputation. I have brought my instruments with me,
and never allow pleasure to interfere with my business. Do you promise?"

"Yes, sir," said six small voices, simultaneously. The volley was,
however, followed by half a dozen dropping questions.

"Silence! Bob, put your feet down, and stop rattling that sword. Flora
shall sit by my side, like a little lady, and be an example to the rest.
Fung Tang shall stay, too, if he likes. Now, turn down the gas a little;
there, that will do,--just enough to make the fire look brighter, and to
show off the Christmas candles. Silence, everybody! The boy who cracks
an almond, or breathes too loud over his raisins, will be put out of the
room?"

There was a profound silence. Bob laid his sword tenderly aside, and
nursed his leg thoughtfully. Flora, after coquettishly adjusting the
pocket of her little apron, put her arm upon the Doctor's shoulder, and
permitted herself to be drawn beside him. Fung Tang, the little heathen
page, who was permitted, on this rare occasion, to share the Christian
revels in the drawing-room, surveyed the group with a s