an unhappy family when
every one around them appeared so glad.

Did it really make people so happy, this Christmas-day that they talked
so much about in Sunday-school? That was a beautiful hymn that they sung
last Sunday; she repeated one verse softly to herself while the stream
of her mother's talk ran on:

"Jesus is our childhood's pattern,
Day by day, like us, he grew;
He was little, weak and helpless,
Tears and smiles, like us, he knew;
And he feeleth for our sadness,
And he shareth in our gladness."

With a comforted feeling she pushed back her hair with her feathery
hand, heartily wishing that all the people who ate their turkeys would
be comfortable, and have clothes to wear and go to sewing societies
whenever they liked.

The clock ticked loudly, the fire died away while Mrs. Blanchard
enlarged upon the trials of her life, and, despite the refrain in her
heart--

"And he feeleth for our sadness,
And he shareth in our gladness"--

Debby's eyes were as heavy with tears as with sleepiness when the last
plump turkey lay on the table plucked of his feathers, just as the clock
was striking eleven.

"Go to bed, child, and I'll clear up the mess," her mother said, when
Debby sprang up and straightened herself with a long sigh. "I'm sure
your father ought to give you something for keeping out of your bed so
late, when he is sleeping as innocent as the baby this minute, I'll
warrant."

As Debby had a way of only thinking her replies, her answer was to wash
her hands at the sink and run upstairs with joyful feet, thinking, "How
_splendid_ it will be if he gives me some money; then I can spend it at
the Fair to-morrow night."

But even rose-colored visions could not keep the weary child awake; she
was not conscious of touching the pillow, and thought of nothing until
the clock striking six awoke her to remember, with a thrill, that it
was Christmas-day,--the day of the Fair.

But there would be no presents or merry greetings in her home, for she
could not remember ever hearing either father or mother wish any of the
family "Merry Christmas!" and a little candy on that day was among the
dimmest pictures of her childhood.

"I'll make the fire, so that mother can sleep a little longer," she
decided, lighting her candle, and beginning to dress with shivering
alacrity. "And I'll be as helpful as I can all day, and perhaps father
_will_ give me some of the turkey money."

Wi