kes you feel?"

Carmencita's hands came suddenly together, and, pressing them on her
breast, her eyes grew big and shining. Standing first on one foot and
then on the other, she swayed slightly forward, then gave a leap in
the air.

"I can't help it, Miss Frances, I really can't! It's something inside
me--something that makes me wish I was all the world's mother! And
I'm so squirmy and thrilly and shivery, thinking of the things I'd do
if I could, that sometimes I'm bound to jump--just bound to! I'm
almost sure something nice is going to happen. Did you ever feel that
way, Miss Frances?"

"I used to feel that way." The clear dark eyes for a moment turned
from the eager ones of the child. "It's a very nice way to feel. When
one is young--though perhaps it is not so much youth as hope in the
heart, and love, and--"

"I don't love everybody. I loathe Miss Cattie Burns. She's the very
old dev--I promised Father I wouldn't say even a true mean thing
about anybody for a month, and I've done it twice! I'd much rather
love people, though. I love to love! It makes you feel so nice and
warm and homey. If I had a house I'd have everybody I know--I mean all
the nice everybodies--to spend Christmas with me. Isn't it funny that
at Christmas something in you gets so lonely for--for--I don't know
what for, exactly, but it's something you don't mind so much not
having at other times."

Carmencita's arms opened to their full length, then circled slowly,
and her hands crossed around her neck. "It's the time to wipe out and
forget things, Father says. It's the home-time and the heart-time
and--" In her voice was sudden anxiety. "You are not going away for
Christmas are you, Miss Frances?"

"Not for Christmas eve." She hesitated. "I'm not quite sure what I'm
going to do on Christmas day. My people live in different places and
far apart. It is all very different from what it used to be. When one
is alone--"

She stopped abruptly and, going over to the window, looked down on the
street below; and Carmencita, watching, saw the face turned from hers
twist in sudden pain. For a moment she stood puzzled and helpless.
Something she did not understand was troubling, something in which she
could not help. What was it?

"You couldn't be alone at Christmas, Miss Frances." Slowly she came
toward the window, and shyly her hand slipped into that of her friend.
"There are too many wanting you. Father and I can't give fine presents
or have a fi