e odd little
creatures in their black-and-white coats held Jasper's gaze in a
fascinated stare. Then the man, obeying an impulse that he scarcely
understood himself, made his purchase, gave explicit directions where
and when it was to be sent, and left the store. Then, and not until
then, did Jasper Hawkins fully realize that to his Uncle Harold--the
rich old man who must be petted and pampered, and never by any chance
offended--he had sent as a Christmas present a cage of dancing mice!

That night Mrs. Hawkins fearlessly asked her questions, and as
fearlessly her husband answered them. He had determined to assume a
bold front. However grave might be his own doubts and fears, he had
resolved that she should not know of them.

"Presents? Of course! They went to-day with our love," he answered
gayly.

"And what--did you send?"

"The simplest things in the world; a string of handsome beads to Aunt
Harriet, a pair of skates to Jimmy, and a cage of the funniest little
waltzing mice you ever saw, to Uncle Harold. You see it all resolves
itself down to a mere matter of system," he went on; but at the real
agony in his wife's face he stopped in dismay. "Why, Edith!"

"Jasper, you didn't--you _did n't_ send _skates_ to Jimmy!"

"But I did. Why not?"

"But, Jasper, he's--lame!"

Jasper fell back limply. All the bravado fled from his face.

"Edith, how could I--how could I--_forget_--a thing like that!" he
groaned.

"And beads for Aunt Harriet! Why, Jasper, I never saw a bead on her
neck! You know how poor she is, and how plain she dresses. I always
give her useful, practical things!"

Jasper said nothing. He was still with Jimmy and the skates. He
wished he had bought a book--a wicked book, if need be; anything would
be better than those skates.

"And mice--_mice_ for Uncle Harold!" wept Edith. "Why, Jasper, how
could you?--dirty little beasts that Uncle Harold can only feed to his
cat! And I had hoped so much from Uncle Harold. Oh, Jasper, Jasper,
how could you!"

"I don't know," said Jasper dully, as he got up to leave the room.

To Jasper it was not a happy Christmas. There were those three letters
of thanks to come; and he did not want to read them.

As it chanced they all came the same day, the 28th. They were
addressed to Mrs. Hawkins, and naturally she read them first. When
Jasper came home that night they lay waiting for him on his desk. He
saw them, but he decided not to read the