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shears to cut with. When all was done the babe looked beautiful, except that it had no stockings. It had not even legs. Ill make her a wooden leg, and let her be a cripple, then I shall love her all the better.But after she had made the leg, and a very good one, too, she hadnt the heart to break the skin of her , and push it in. Ill make the stockings without legs, she said, and so she did. Elsie was very careful never to let her see, or mention before her, how busy she was for Christmas. She felt very sorrypleasure.She crept into bed and took her on her arm. The night was very cold. The frost made mysterious noises on the roof in the nail-holes and on the glass. She went to bed early because the kitchen was so cold. She thought we can talk in bed. The lock of her door was broken, and she could not shut it tight. Through this the air came chilly. Miss Amanda put on her flannel wrapper and her bed-slippers and sat down before the open fire in her sleeping-room. Some way she couldnt keep her thoughts from thatwas certain Miss Amanda wouldnt hang any stocking; so just before dark she slipped into Miss Amandas sleeping-room, and laid it on the brown cushion just in front of the mirror. When Elsie had finished her work she went to her room, pinned her s stocking to the foot of the bed and slyly tucked in the new suit she had made. Her own stockings lay flat upon the floor. Her breath caught a little bit as she noticed them. But it doesnt matter, she said, parents never care for themselves if they can give their renin her lap and tell her the Christmas story. So now it was a great mercy for Elsie that she had her to work for. One day, when she had scrubbed the pantry floor unusually clean, Miss Amanda gave her the privilege of the rag barrel. This resulted in a new Christmas suit of silk and velvet for baby; and this she made. When Elsie left The Home the matron had given her a little needle-book containing a spool of thread and thimble for a good-by present. These now came into good play. She used the lampthem, and carefully covered by little, toil-hardened hands, was the grotesque potato in its white night-gown. Miss Amanda was surprised by a queer click in her throat, and hurried out of the room. She stood before her fire, candle in hand, and bitterly compressed her lips. She hopes Ill find my Christmas present to-night. Who will send it to me, and what will it be? Whom do I care for, and who cares for me? No one. Not one human being.She crossed the room, and, placing her candle upon the dressing-table, gazed at herself in the glass. I am growing old, old and hard, and perfectly friendless.But why that start andand forth, and groaned aloud. She could not help her thoughts now, or keep them from going back over the past. Her heart softened as she remembered, and the scalding tears fell. She was only a , not much older than the one up-stairs, when her dying mother had placed her baby-brother in her arms, saying: He is all I have to leave you, Amanda. I know you love him. Dont ever be harsh or unforgiving to him.How had she kept her trust? She had loved him. She had worked early and worked late for him. She had given up

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