ey knew
that back of all the snow was the Christmas brightness."

"I never had a tree," said Justin. "When I was a kiddie we had pretty
hard times, and the best Christmas I remember was one when mother made
us boys put up a shelf for our books, and she started our collection
with 'Treasure Island' and 'Huckleberry Finn.'"

In the adjoining room, volumes reached from floor to ceiling, from end
to end. Petronella had a vision of this vivid young giant gloating over
his two books on a rude shelf. And all her life she had had the things
she wanted! Somehow the thought took the bitterness out of her attitude
toward him. How strong he must be to deny himself now the one great
thing that he craved when his life had held so little.

"How lovely to begin with just those two books," she said, softly, and
the radiance of her smile was dazzling.

When she showed him her presents she was still radiant. There was a
queer opera-bag of Chinese needlework, with handles of jade, a Damascus
bowl of pierced brass, a tea-caddy in quaint Dutch _repousse_; there was
a silver-embroidered altar-cloth for a cushion, a bit of Copenhagen
faience, all the sophisticated artistry which is sent to those who have
no need for the commonplace. There were jewels, too: a bracelet of
topazes surrounded by brilliants, a pair of slipper buckles of
turquoises set in silver, a sapphire circlet for her little finger, a
pendant of seed pearls.

As she opened the parcels and displayed her riches Justin felt
bewildered. His gifts to his mother had included usually gloves and a
generous check; if he had ventured to choose anything for Petronella he
would not have dared go beyond a box of candy or a book; he had given
his nurses pocketbooks and handkerchiefs. And the men of Petronella's
world bestowed on her brass bowls and tea-caddies!

Miss Danvers vanished up-stairs. The Admiral, having admired, slipped
away to the library, encouraged by Petronella's whispered: "Oh, uncle
dear, leave us alone for just a little minute. I've found a way!"

Then Petronella, with that radiance still upon her, sat down on her
little stool in front of the fire, and looked at Justin on the other
side of the hearth.

"You haven't given me anything," she began, reproachfully.

"What could I give that would compare with these?" His hand swept toward
the exquisite display. "What could I give--"

"There's one thing," softly.

"What?"

"That copy of 'Treasure Island' that your m