e always and a dinner, too."

"Oh, I could manage a small tree, perhaps," interrupted Mrs. McGregor,
touched at seeing the child so disappointed. "There are little ones at
the market."

"But I don't want a little one," objected Tim stubbornly. "I want a
big, big Christmas tree."

"Big as the ceiling--big as Mulberry Court," interrupted Martin,
extending his chubby arms to their full length.

"I wants a big tree, too," lisped Nell.

Mrs. McGregor sighed to herself. Evidently it was not going to be as
easy to coax her flock away from their established traditions as she
had at first supposed. Each year she had made a stupendous effort to
keep Christmas after the old fashion; and each season the ceremony,
before it was over, made appalling inroads on her slender purse. This
time it had been her plan to curtail expenses and put what was spent
into the more substantial and lasting things. But now as she glanced
about her her heart misgave her. Even Carl and Mary, valiantly as they
fought for economy, and grown up though they were, could not altogether
conceal the fact that they were disappointed; and as for the younger
children, they were on the brink of tears.

"Well, we won't decide to-day," announced their mother diplomatically.
"We will think it over until to-morrow. By that time perhaps some way
can be found----"

A knock at the door interrupted her.

"Run to the door like a good boy, Timmie," said she. "Very likely it's
the boy from the corner grocery with the bundles of wood I ordered."

Tim rose with importance. Visitors to the fifth floor of Mulberry Court
were so few that to admit even so prosaic a one as the grocer's boy
never ceased to thrill him.

To-day, however, it was not the grocer's boy who stood peering at him
from the dim hallway. In fact, it was no one he had ever seen before. A
little old man stood there, a man with ruddy cheeks, a stern mouth, and
blue eyes whose sharpness was softened by a moist, far-away expression.
From beneath a nautical blue cap strayed a wisp or two of white hair.
Otherwise, he was buttoned to his chin in a great coat, fastened with
imposing brass buttons, dulled by much fingering.

Apprehensive at the sight, Tim backed into the room. Brass buttons, in
his limited experience, meant either firemen or policemen and either of
these dignitaries was equally terrifying.

"You don't know your Uncle Frederick, do you, sonny?" observed the
stranger.

The voice, more than t