wondered how it could have been placed there
without her knowledge, for the slightest motion set the tiny bells on
heel and toe a-jingling. She touched it several times just to start the
silvery tinkle, then sitting up in bed emptied its treasures out on the
counterpane. It was filled with bon-bons and many inexpensive trifles,
but down in the toe was a little gold thimble, from Patricia.

It was in the chair under the stocking that she found the gloves from
Eugenia, the book from "Cousin Carl" and a long box that she opened with
breathless interest because Phil's card lay atop. On it was scribbled,
"The 'Best Man's' best wishes for a Merry Christmas to Mary."

Tearing off the ribbons and the tissue paper wrappings she lifted the
lid, and then drew a long rapturous breath, exclaiming, "Roses! American
Beauty roses! The first flowers a man ever sent me--and from the _Best_
Man!"

She laid her face down among the cool velvety petals and closed her
eyes, drinking in the fragrance. Then she lifted each perfect bud and
half blown flower to examine it separately, revelling in the sweetness
and colour. Then the uncomfortable thought occurred to her that she was
happier over this gift than she had been over the furs or the
long-wished-for ring, and she began to make excuses to herself.

"Maybe if I'd always had them sent to me as Lloyd and Betty and the
other girls have, it wouldn't seem such a big thing. But this is the
first time. Of course it doesn't mean anything as it would if he had
sent them to Lloyd. He is in love with _her_. Still--I'm glad he chose
roses."

She touched the last one to her lips. It was so cool and sweet that she
held it there a moment before she slipped out of bed and ran across the
room to thrust the long stems into the water pitcher. She would ask the
maid for a more fitting receptacle after awhile, but in the meantime she
would keep them fresh as possible.

When she went down to breakfast she wore one thrust in her belt, and
some of its colour seemed to have found its way into her cheeks when
she thanked Phil for his gift. The same rose was pinned on her coat,
when later in the morning they went to a Christmas service at St.
Boniface, the little stone church in the village, a mile away. Eugenia
had suggested their going. She said it would be such a picture with the
snow on its ivy-covered belfry, and the icicles hanging from the eaves.
Some noted singer was to be in the choir, and would sing