Kitty's Christmas tree

"Oh, mamma! Poor dear little Jou-jou!" exclaimed Kitty, starting up. "Do let me go with you!"

"No, my love!" said her mother decidedly. "It is a very damp, raw evening, and you know if you should take cold, you might be confined all winter. If you had not been complaining to-day, I should perhaps let you go. But as it is, you must not think of such a thing."

Kitty's reflections when her mother was gone were far from being pleasant. Julie, or Jou-jou, as she was called, was the oldest and the most promising of her pupils. She was very much attached to her young teacher, and took great pains to please her. She had already learned to read well in English, and was able to repeat the whole of the Commandments. Jou-jou was a thoughtful child, and asked many questions, some of which Kitty was puzzled to answer.

"I will find out and tell you next time!" had been Kitty's last words to the child the Sunday before.

But the next time had never come, and might never come again.

She had wilfully absented herself from her post—selfishly neglected her duty, and for what? Merely that she might indulge herself in silly reveries, and hard thoughts of the best friend she had in the world.

Nor was this the worst of it. Kitty had contrived to keep her conscience partly quiet through the week, but it was not to be silenced now. It brought up before her, in all their ugly colours, the disobedience of which she had been guilty, and the lie that she told to conceal that disobedience—the hard, uncharitable thoughts she had indulged of those about her, and especially of her mother. Kitty was astonished, when she came to think of it, to see of how many sins she had been guilty.

Kitty had lately thought herself a true disciple of Christ. Especially since she had taken charge of the Sunday-school class had she paid great attention to her religious duties, reading good books, praying, and studying the Scriptures. Fanny Daskin had often said she was the only girl in the school who acted up to what she professed; and this helped to feed her self-complacency, till she had come to think herself quite a pattern, and to criticise her companions—not a safe state of mind for anybody.

Now, all at once her eyes seemed to be opened, and she caught a glimpse of her real spiritual condition. What had she been about all this week? Where had she suffered herself to be led by the arts of the flatterer? Was this acting up to her Christian profession? Were falsehood, neglect of duty, disobedience to her mother, thoughts filled with the world and the things of the world—were these the marks of a true disciple? Kitty could not think so? She had been too well taught to deceive herself in that way.

Kitty got up and walked about the room in a very unhappy frame of mind. She thought she would pray for forgiveness, but then the reflection came across her that she could not do so without an honest intention to abandon her sins; and she could not at once make up her mind to give up all the day-dreams in which she had lately delighted, and confess to her mother the falsehoods of which she had been guilty. She felt that she was not prepared to do this. Must she then incur the added guilt of hypocrisy, or must she give up altogether the thought of being a Christian? There was another trouble upon Kitty's mind.

The more she thought about it, the more vexed she felt that she had been cajoled into lending Fanny the money she had to depend upon for her Christmas tree. She knew very well that she had often lent Fanny small sums of money which Fanny had never paid her. What security had she that she should ever see her three dollars again? And if she did not, what would become of her presents, and what should she say to her mother? These reflections were interrupted by the return of Mrs. Tremain.

"It is all over, my dear!" she said, in answer to Kitty's half-uttered question. "Poor little Jou-jou died about half an hour ago! There was nothing to be done for her. The last words she spoke were something about Mademoiselle Kitty!"

"Oh, mamma! You ought to have let me go and see her!" sobbed Kitty.

"No, my love! It would not have been right to expose your health when you could do no good!"

"Oh, if I had only gone to Sunday-school! If I had only seen her once more!"

"My darling, do not reproach yourself unjustly!" said Mrs. Tremain, tenderly. "You have been very faithful to your class, and it was through no fault of yours that you stayed at home to-day! I do not wonder that you regret it, but you are not in any way to blame."

How these kind words went to Kitty's heart! She knew it "was" all her own fault—that she had stayed at home because she was ashamed to meet her class without preparation, and because she preferred to amuse herself. Her grief became hysterical, and her mother at last put her to bed, gave her some quieting medicine, and sat by her till she fell asleep.

"Was Fanny Daskin at school to-day, mamma?" said she, suddenly, when her mother thought her asleep.

"No, my dear! I heard Miss May inquiring for her. Do you know why she stayed away?"

"No, mamma! She said on Friday that she was going."

"Well, never mind now. Go to sleep."

The next morning Kitty was really too unwell to go to school, and she lay upon the sofa all day, too miserable to read or employ herself in any way. She tried to find some relief in throwing all the blame upon Fanny Daskin, but there was small comfort in that. She had been warned time after time against Fanny's influence and Fanny's flatteries—she knew in her own heart that Fanny had always made a tool and a fool of her. The net had been spread plainly in her sight, she had walked into it like a silly bird, and now she was caught hard and fast enough.

"Kitty," said her mother, the day after little Julie was buried, "do you think you will feel well enough to go down to the city to-morrow?"

"Oh yes, mamma! Why?"

"I shall be obliged to go to see about insurance and other matters, and it will be a good time to buy your Sunday-school presents. I presume you will be able to lay out your money to much greater advantage there then here."

"Yes, mamma!" said Kitty, but with so much hesitation in her voice, that Mrs. Tremain turned to look at her.

"Why, what is, the matter, Kitty? You have not lost your money, have you?"

"Oh no, mamma, it is quite safe—only—"

"Only what?"

"I locked it up in my desk, mamma, and I have mislaid the key."

Kitty had only that morning resolved that she would never tell another lie.

"That is unlucky," said her mother. "What made you lock it up? You do not usually lock your desk, do you?"

"No, mamma, but you know Miss May was talking about burglars the other evening when she was here. So when I went up-stairs I thought I would lock my desk, and I have put away the key so safely that I cannot find it at all."

How glibly these falsehoods ran off the end of Kitty's tongue! Fanny herself could not have invented them faster or told them with less confusion.

"There comes Mrs. Brown," said her mother, glancing out of the window. "You had better go and look for your key, my dear. Try to think where you have put it."

Kitty ran up-stairs, but not to hunt for her key. That was in the lock of her desk, as usual. She turned it, took it out, and threw it over behind her book-shelf. Then hastily putting on her hood and cloak, she went down the back stairs, slipped through the garden gate, and ran through the back street to Mr. Daskin's. She knew that Fanny would just now be coming from school. She was not disappointed. She met Fanny at the gate.

"Why, Kitty, what are you doing out in this rain, and with no rubbers on!" exclaimed Fanny. "You will get your death."

"I don't care if I do!" said Kitty. "Fanny, I want my money."

"Money! What money? What do you mean?" asked Fanny.

Kitty stamped her foot with impatience. "Now, Fanny, don't tire me, for I won't stand it. You know what I mean! I want the three dollars and a half I lent you last Thursday. I am going with mother to T— to-morrow, and I want my money to spend. You said you would pay me the middle of the week."

Kitty's Christmas Tree.
"Father, was not that bill I showed you a counterfeit?"

"Oh that!" said Fanny. "I can't give you the fifty cents now, Kitty: I have not got it; as for the three dollars, the note was good for nothing. I showed it to Mr. May at the store, and he said it was a counterfeit, so I just tore it up and threw it away."

"You did no such thing! I know better. You are telling me a lie, Fanny Daskin!" exclaimed Kitty. "I know that Uncle Baldwin would never send me a bad bill."

"I tell you it was good for nothing; you may ask father. Father, was not that bill I showed you a counterfeit?"

"Of course! Any fool might have seen it!" To do Mr. Daskin justice, he knew nothing about the money that Fanny had borrowed, but thought she referred to a twenty-five cent bill she had got at the store in change. "You must look out sharper, or some of these folks will cheat your eyes out."

"There, didn't I tell you so! I am sorry for you, Kitty, and I don't mean to be vexed with you, whatever you may say. It was very good in you to lend me the money, but you can't expect me to give you back good money for bad. Now, can you?"

"Fanny Daskin!" said Kitty, trembling with excitement. "You are a thief, a cheat, and a liar. I will never speak to you again the longest day I live."

"So you said before," replied Fanny, coolly.

"I mean it this time. I will tell every one how you cheated me."

"No you won't!"

"Why not?"

"Because you can't do it without letting every one know what a fool you have been; and you won't be in a hurry to do that! Good-bye, Kitty. I hope you will have a pleasant Christmas-party. I shan't go to Sunday-school any more just now, but if I ever become converted, I will write and let you know!" Then, with these mocking words, Fanny turned and went into the house, shutting the door after her.

Kitty stood still, as if stunned for a minute. As she turned to go, she ran against Lizzy Gates.

"Why, Kitty, what brings you out in this storm!" exclaimed Lizzy. "I heard you were sick, and I was coming up to see you this afternoon. But how pale you are! Has any thing happened to frighten you?"

Kitty now poured out the story of her wrongs.

"The mean thing!" exclaimed Lizzie. "She spent that very money for a new hat and veil at Miss Perkins's, for I saw her myself. It was a new three dollar bill and a new fifty cent note, was it not?"

"Yes!"

"I saw her pay it to Miss Perkins when I was there picking out my worsteds. Miss Perkins remarked that she did not often see such clean money."

"She says she will pay me the fifty cents some time," said Kitty. "But I want it now. I dare not say any thing about it to mamma, for she has often forbidden me to lend Fanny or any of the girls money."

Lizzy shook her head. "I don't want to be a 'Job's comforter,' as they say, Kitty, but I am afraid you will never see your money again. The Daskins are going away to California day after to-morrow. Mrs. Daskin told mother so this very morning. It is a real shame, and so good as you have been to her! But I won't say any thing about her, for I have been about as bad." She stopped, hesitated, and then broke out again. "It may as well come out, Kitty. I am sorry I have used you so, and led you into so many scrapes. I have been very wicked about that and other things, but I beg your pardon. There!"

"Why, Lizzy! What do you mean?"

"I don't wonder you ask," replied Lizzy, tapping her foot against the ground. "But, Kitty, I mean what I say. I have been very wicked always, but I hope I am different now. I have been thinking about these things a good while, and now I have made up my mind. I am going to try to be a Christian, Kitty, and I hope you will pray for me."

Kitty was too much astonished to answer a word. Lizzy was the very last girl in the school from whom she would have expected to hear such words.

"That was what I was coming to tell you this afternoon," continued Lizzy. "I knew you would be glad to hear it, because you have been 'good' so long. Why, Kitty, what is the matter. You 'are' glad, are you not?"

Kitty was weeping convulsively. "Indeed, indeed I am," she said, as soon as she could speak. "You don't know how glad I am. But oh, Lizzy, don't call me a Christian. I am not! I have been a wicked, wicked girl. I have told lies, and deceived mamma, and myself, and everybody. Oh, what shall I do?"

"I know what I would do if I were you, and what you ought to do," said Lizzy, with decision. "I would go and tell my mother all about it, and tell her you are sorry. You won't have a bit of comfort till you do."

"It is easy to say that," said Kitty.

"It is not easy to do it, I know that I well enough," returned Lizzy. "I know, because I have just done it. I stopped after school and told Miss Oliver all about my cheating in composition and lessons. I knew I shouldn't feel easy till I did. So I told her the whole. I have lost all my credit by it, but I don't care so much for that. You don't know how much better I feel, now it is off my mind. And I 'know,' Kitty—" here Lizzy became very emphatic, as her manner was when she was in earnest—"I 'know,' Kitty, that you will never have one minute's comfort till you tell your mother the whole story."

"I believe you are right," said Kitty, after a minute's pause. "I 'know' you are. I will go home this minute and tell her."

"And, Kitty," said Lizzie, detaining her a moment, "I wouldn't give up every thing because I had done wrong. Remember Peter."

"I know, Lizzy, but that was not like my case."

"Well, anyhow, I wouldn't give up trying. But do go home as fast as you can and change your shoes. I am sure they are wet through."

CHAPTER V.

KITTY did not go in at the back gate this time. She felt that she must have done with concealment in every shape. She walked in at the front door, and, seeing that her mother was not in the parlour, she went straight up-stairs to her own room. Her mother was there, looking at the books in the bookcase.

"Your desk is not locked, Kitty," said Mrs. Tremain. "You turned the key without shutting it close, and the bolt is outside, so you can get your money even if you do not succeed in finding your key."

"The money is not in the desk, mother," said Kitty.

There was something in her voice so strange and unnatural that Mrs. Tremain turned hastily round. Kitty's usually rosy cheeks were as pale as ashes, and her eyes looked large and wild.

"Why, my love, what is the matter? Have you lost your money, or what has happened?"

"No, mamma—yes, mamma, I have lost it, but not in that way. I lent it to Fanny Daskin, and she will not give it back to me. She says it was a bad bill, and she tore it up, but Lizzy Gates says she saw her pay just such a bill to Miss Perkins."

"A likely story, that your uncle would send you a bad bill!" exclaimed Cousin Tilly, who had just come in with some water.

"But, Kitty, how long is it since you told me that the money was safe in your desk?"

"I did tell you so, mamma. Cousin Tilly, please go down-stairs. I want to tell mother something."

"You must change your clothes first of all, Kitty!" said Mrs. Tremain, observing for the first time how wet Kitty was. "I think you had better go to bed. Tilly, will you make a fire?"

As soon as Kitty was safe in bed, her mother sat down by her bedside, saying—"Now, Kitty, tell me the whole story, and let me have nothing but the truth this time, whatever you may have told me before."

Kitty began at the day when she lent Fanny the money, and told her mother, without reservation, all that had occurred, not concealing the fact that she had made an altogether false excuse in order to stay at home on the Sunday that little Julie died.

"Why did you do so?" asked her mother.

"I did not feel as though I could meet my class, mamma! I felt so wicked; and besides—you will think me a fool outright, mamma—I wanted to think about what Fanny had told me—about the fortune grandfather had left me."

"So you have heard that foolish story! There is no truth in it whatever. Your grandfather was very rich, and after having provided amply for each of his children and giving me the sum of money upon which we are now living, he gave the rest of his property to various charitable institutions. And so you have allowed this wicked girl, whom you know to be a liar, to prejudice you against your mother, and make you believe that she was cheating you out of what was justly your due. Oh, Kitty!"

"Yes, mamma, I own it! She did make me think so. She told me a great deal about it, and what fine things I could buy if I only had my rights, as she said. She made me think that three dollars was nothing at all, and then she got it away from me!"

"When was this?" asked Mrs. Tremain.

"Last Wednesday, mamma."

"And how many lies have you told about it since that time?"

"I don't know, mamma: a great many!"

"You told me that you had never said a word to Fanny Daskin about your Christmas tree! Was that true?"

"No, mamma; I told her all about it. She would make me!"

"She would make you!" repeated Mrs. Tremain. "How did she make you?"

"Because I was such a fool, mamma. I don't know any other reason!" said Kitty. "She is going away: that is one comfort!"

"It is no particular comfort to me, Kitty," said Mrs. Tremain, sadly. "The same weakness, the same cowardice, the same love of low, coarse flattery which has made you the prey of one person may just as easily make you the prey of another. Flatterers are never wanting, especially to a girl who is so unfortunate as to get the reputation of being foolish and rich at the same time."

"Then there is no hope for me! Oh, mamma, don't say that!" said Kitty, weeping. "Don't give me up, mamma; please, don't."

"I shall not give you up, my poor child! You will find a faithful friend in your mother as long as she lives. But I may be taken from you any day, and then what is to become of you? Or, what good can I do you if you are ready to believe any one rather than me?"

"Mother, mother, don't! Please, don't!" sobbed Kitty. "Oh, what shall I do?"

"My child, there is one hope for you, only one!" said her mother. "If you can only be brought to see your fault! If you can be brought to see that this weakness of yours is wickedness, then you may be led to go for help to the only one who can help you! But as long as you think it rather creditable to you than otherwise—rather an amiable weakness, at the worst—"

"Indeed, mamma, I don't think so now!" said Kitty. "I see it all. It is just what you say—just vanity and the love of flattery—that made me run after Fanny Daskin. I was a coward, too! I could not bear to have the girls call me stingy or mean! I—" but here Kitty's voice was lost in sobs.

"If you really see this to be true, my daughter, I shall indeed begin to have hopes of you. It is only when people see how much they need help that they really seek it. No man feels his need of a Saviour till he perceives that he is a sinner, and unable to help himself. My child, think of all that your heavenly Father has done for you! Look around you, and see your comfortable home; think of all the blessings you enjoy, both temporal and spiritual! Think of the gift of his dear Son dying for you, and bearing your sins on the cross! And then think of your sins against him. If you do this, with prayer for the help of his Holy Spirit, you cannot help coming to some sense of your condition. I leave you to yourself for a time. By-and-by I will talk with you again."

Left alone, Kitty did think more seriously, more deeply, than she had ever thought before. She saw how she had been deceived in her estimation of herself: how much of her religion had been like that of the Pharisee—done to be seen of men! How pleased she had been when Fanny said that she was the only girl in school who lived up to her profession, though she knew perfectly well that there were half a dozen who were far more consistent than herself. She remembered how much more pains she had taken with her class when Mr. Burgess, the superintendent, or Mr. Parmelee, happened to be near—how anxious she had been to display her fluency in speaking French—how, in talking with Mr. Parmelee, when her mother was not within hearing, she had exaggerated what she had done for the children, and how delighted she had been to hear him say he wished all the teachers were as zealous as Kitty.

The human heart is deceitful above all things! We have the warrants not only of God's word, but of our own experience, for saying so. But there are times when, by his Spirit or by his providence, sometimes by means even of our own falls and sins, God gives us a clear sight of our own corruption and wickedness. Such an insight did Kitty now obtain, and it was not lost upon her. The same infinite mercy and love which showed her her sins showed her also her Saviour, and the experience of that day altered the whole life of Kitty Tremain.

When Mrs. Tremain came up again, she found Kitty sad and humble indeed, but more hopeful. She had no longer any desire to justify herself at the expense of Fanny, or any one else, and she acquiesced, sorrowfully enough, but without remonstrance, in her mother's decision that she must do without pocket-money for the next six months.

"I am very sorry to deprive you of it, Kitty, but I cannot trust you with any more money until I see that you have sufficient firmness to use it properly. For the present you must come to me for every thing you want."

"I suppose I must give up my Christmas tree, mamma?"

"I shall not require you to give up your little party for the children, because it would be a great disappointment to them, and because I have promised you. But you must give up the presents, unless you can contrive to get them in some way out of your own resources."

"Very well, mamma," said Kitty, sadly. "I know it is right that I should be punished. Mamma, do you think I ought to give up my class?"

"No, my dear."

"But when I have been so wicked, mamma." Kitty looked anxiously at her mother.

"My daughter, the fact that you have done wrong is no reason why you should leave off doing right. Peter, you remember, denied his Lord, and that more than once; yet it was to him in particular that the command was given, 'Feed my lambs!' These lambs are committed to your charge by Providence in a special manner, and it is for you to feed them in the best way you can."

"Indeed I will try, then, mamma," said Kitty, with a quivering lip. "I do love them dearly, and I don't want to give them up. Oh, if I had only gone that last Sunday." And Kitty burst into tears, as she thought of little Julie.

"I do not wonder you feel sadly about it, but, Kitty, do not let it end in 'feeling.' Right feelings do us no good unless they lead to right conduct. Remember that if through sloth, or carelessness, or self-indulgence, you omit a duty, you have no reason to think that you will ever have the opportunity to perform it afterwards."

"May I get up to tea, mamma?" asked Kitty.

"I think you had better not, Kitty. You are hoarse, and I fear you have taken a bad cold. Cousin Tilly shall bring up your tea, and I will come and sit with you afterwards, but I think you are better in bed for the present."

The next day and the next Kitty made no objections to staying in bed, but the third day she was able to get up and dress herself, though she was not allowed to leave her room. Mrs. Tremain was obliged to go to T— on business which could no longer be deferred, and as Cousin Tilly was busy down-stairs, Kitty was left alone to occupy herself as she could. With some trouble, she recovered her key from the place where she had thrown it, and opened her desk. The first thing she saw was a piece of paper, on which she had set down the presents she intended to buy. Little Julie's name was first on the list. Kitty's tears fell fast on the leaf.

"Poor Julie! She will not be here to be disappointed, anyhow! Oh, if I could only think of something for them."

Kitty sat for a few minutes in deep thought. Then she unlocked an inner cupboard in the desk where she kept her principal treasures, and drew forth a box. It was a beautiful little box, covered with velvet, lined with white satin, and perfumed with attar of roses. Kitty opened it and took out the contents. There were twelve little French books, elegantly bound, printed in colours, and each having two beautifully-coloured pictures.

"They would be just the thing," said she.

She took them up and examined them one by one. Then she laid them down and took the box in her hand, shutting her eyes as she inhaled the perfume. A whole panorama came before her mind in a moment. The broad Boulevard—the gaily-dressed people walking and sitting about, all so good-natured and polite—the neat white-capped "bonnes," or nurses, running and playing with their nurslings! She seemed again to be holding her papa's hand, as he took her into the beautiful little shop which was like a toy in itself, with its paint and gilding and green velvet. She seemed to see the books and toys lying about, the pleasant, smiling French woman behind the counter, the fat, white cat with his neck and ears adorned with pink ribbons which sat purring and winking in the window. There was a struggle going on in Kitty's mind, as her face plainly showed.

"I do not think papa would care!" said Kitty to herself. "I am sure I never shall forget him even if I had nothing at all to remind me of him. Papa would wish me to do right, I know."

Kitty put the books back into their case, but her mind was made up.

"Mamma!" said she that night before she went to bed. "Would you object to my giving the children those little French picture-books in the box?"

"No, my dear!" said her mother, kissing her, and looking very much pleased. "Not if you can make up your mind to part with them."

"I do hate to part with them, that is the truth, mamma," replied Kitty, candidly. "But I know the children will be so disappointed, now that they have heard of the matter. I feel as if I owed them amends, mamma."

CHAPTER VI.

"HERE is a telegram, mamma!" said Kitty, throwing open the door. "It has just come!"

Mrs. Tremain opened the note. "It is just what I expected!" said she, as the tears filled her eyes. "Your aunt Leffington is dead!"

"Dear old lady!" said Cousin Tilly. "How glad she must have been to go. She has lasted on wonderfully! How old was she?"

"Eighty-eight years old. It is nearly fifty years since she lost her husband and daughter at one blow. She has had a long time to wait."

"Do you think she was glad to die, mamma?" asked Kitty.

"Yes, my dear! I do not believe there has been a day for fifty years that she would not have rejoiced at the summons. Yet she was always cheerful, and constantly busied herself in working for others. She was a good Christian, though she had some oddities, as was expected."

Only a week now intervened before Christmas. It came on Sunday, and the Sunday before, Kitty invited all the children to come to her house on Saturday afternoon. She had quite decided to give away her treasured picture-books, and had written each child's name in the one destined for her.

"I have a letter from Aunt Baldwin, Kitty!" said her mother, as Kitty came in from school the next day. "There is some news in it which concerns you. Listen!"

After giving an account of Mrs. Leffington's last moments, Mrs. Baldwin went on to say—

   "The good old lady always said, 'Amabel, I shall not leave my money to you and Catherine. You are well enough off as it is. I shall provide for my old Aggy, and leave the rest to the Old Ladies' Home, but the other things I shall divide between you.' She has kept her word. She has left her jewels and silver to me, her books and furniture to you, and all her clothes and other personal matters to Kitty, making me her executor. I presume you will like to keep the furniture, which is rich and well preserved, though old-fashioned. Please write to me about it directly."

"You will keep it, won't you, mamma?" asked Kitty. "You won't let Aunt Leffington's things be sold?"

"Certainly not, my dear! We have two unfurnished rooms in this big house, you know, which we can now fit up very nicely. But hear the rest of the letter."

   "There is one large trunk, the contents of which I hardly know what to do with," Mrs. Baldwin continued. "You remember Aunt Leffington's fancy for buying all sorts of things merely because they were cheap. She always said she should find a use for them, and I presume she has given away hundreds of dollars' worth of children's clothes, toys, &c. But there still remains this large camphor-wood chest, perfectly filled with the most miscellaneous collection of odds and ends I ever saw. After some consideration, I have concluded to send this box to Kitty at once, thinking that she may make use of some of its contents as gifts to her little class. She will therefore receive it, probably, on the same day as this letter. I shall send the other things as soon as possible."

"Oh, mamma!" said Kitty. She could get no farther, but looked at her mother with sparkling and imploring eyes.

"You are thinking you can furnish your Christmas tree out of Aunt Leffington's box," said her mother, smiling.

"May I, mamma?"

"Yes, Kitty, if you find any thing suitable. But, remember, you must not give away a single thing without asking me first."

"I won't indeed, mamma! Oh, mamma, here comes the express-man this very minute. What a great, big box!"

"Isn't it a big one?" said the good-natured express-man, smiling at Kitty's rapture. "I think it is most too big for a little puss like you! Here is the key, I expect, in this little parcel."

A happier girl than Kitty was not to be found in the whole United States that day! What bundles were disclosed when the box was opened! What dolls, and dolls' houses, and furniture, and dishes!—What picture-books, and china-cups, and images, and work-baskets, and scissors, and "odds and ends" enough to stock a small shop Kitty took up one and another, and did not know which to admire most.

"Your only embarrassment will be in choosing among your treasures!" said her mother. "Do not be too extravagant, my dear! It is never a good plan with children!"

"Please pick out the things for me, mamma!" said Kitty. "You will know best, and I will lock up the rest for another time."

Mrs. Tremain selected such articles as she thought suitable, and Kitty spent a pleasant evening in putting the marks upon them.

"You will not need to give away your pretty, little picture-books now," remarked Cousin Tilly, who had taken great interest in Kitty's preparations, and had, indeed, laid in sundry private stores of her own to help them out.

"I think I shall give them, for all that, Cousin Tilly," replied Kitty, gravely. "I feel as though I had promised."

Cousin Tilly looked at Mrs. Tremain, and nodded a grave approval. "I should feel just so if I were you, I know," said she. "By the way, do you know the Daskins are really gone?"

"Gone!" said Mrs. Tremain.

"Gone, bag and baggage, and a good riddance," replied Cousin Tilly. "They say they are going to California, but I think it's doubtful if they get so far. I can't say I care much for any of them except the sick one: I am sorry for him!"

"I think Mr. Daskin was good to that boy," remarked Kitty.

"I believe you are right," said her mother. "His kindness to the boy was one redeeming trait about him."

"Fanny used to say that her father cared more for Fred than all the rest of them," added Kitty. "Poor Fanny! I wonder what she will come to?"

"To no good, I'm afraid," said Cousin Tilly. "A girl with no more principle than that seldom turns out well."

"And yet every one tried to do Fanny good," remarked Kitty, thoughtfully. "Miss Oliver took a great deal of pains with her, and so did Miss May, her Sunday-school teacher. And I am sure nobody could be kinder than Mrs. May was while Fanny lived there. It was not as if nobody had cared for her."

"My dear child, it is by no means so easy to do people good as you might suppose from reading some books and hearing some good people talk," said her mother. "An old author says, very truly, that all the good in the universe will not benefit a man so long as it is outside of him."

"I think Fanny's great defect was that she never cared for anybody but herself," observed Cousin Tilly. "You see how little she thought of Kitty, after all her pretences. She never even came to bid her good-bye."

"Perhaps she was ashamed," said Kitty.

"Probably she was afraid," said her mother. "I could easily have given her a good deal of trouble, as she knew very well. I could have proved by Miss Perkins that she really did spend Kitty's money. But as they were going so soon, I preferred to let matters alone. Kitty's three dollars will be well expended if it teaches her to beware of flatterers."

Kitty's Christmas Tree.
The children were highly delighted with their presents.

Kitty's party was perfectly successful. The children were highly delighted with their presents, and as much pleased with the apple, cocoanut, and molasses candy which Cousin Tilly had secretly prepared as they would have been with the most costly Parisian confections.

Kitty still keeps the class, and takes the greatest pains with them. And as she has lately been more desirous to teach them English than to show off her own French, they have made famous progress.

Lizzy Gates has never receded from her determination to lead a Christian life. She has had to struggle with many temptations, but she is a girl with a great deal of character and courage, and she gains ground every day. As a sample of her improvement, she saw the whole contents of Aunt Leffington's camphor-wood chest displayed without asking Kitty for the least trifle, nor would she accept some bead trimmings which she acknowledged would be just the thing to finish the cushion she was working for Miss Oliver, until Mrs. Tremain herself particularly requested her to do so.

Of Fanny Daskin I have no good to say, and therefore I will say nothing—except that she never appeared in Holford again.

THE END.