He asked for Mary. She was not well, the mother said, and had no appetite. “I suppose she misses Blackie,” said Mrs. Henson, “though she never speaks of her.” “And the dog misses her, too, for she will neither eat nor play,” said Mr. Colebrook. “I hope she will be better soon, for she is a winsome little creature. We are already fond of her.” “We are glad to have her in so good a home,” said Mrs. Henson. “How do matters look for the winter?” said the man of means. “Is the rent provided for, and the coal in the cellar?” “I think we can get along now, since you kindly paid the rent for two months. I am in better health, and James seems to be selling more papers.” When Mr. Colebrook had gone Mary stole out to ask about Blackie. She could not go to see the dog,—that would give pain to two,—but she was eager to hear about her mute little playmate. “Mr. Colebrook says Blackie will not eat much and misses you greatly,” said Mrs. Henson. A smile crept over the child’s face as she said: “I thought Blackie really loved me. I would go to see her if she wouldn’t feel bad when I came away, and I mustn’t make her heart ache.” “Oh, I think she’ll forget about us all soon, and enjoy her new home very much!” said Helen. “I think not,” said Mary. “Blackie never forgets. She never did.” It was late in the autumn, and Mrs. Henson was too busy with work to think much more about a dog. James was up early and home late, and Helen’s little hands were more than filled with work too hard for a child. Christmas was near at hand, and the rich and the poor were planning according to their means for a merry time. Mrs. Henson’s presents must necessarily be small, and along the line of the absolutely necessary. James must have boots, Helen a simple dress, and Mary some mittens, with a bag of parched corn, a little candy, and a few nuts. Mr. Colebrook did not forget the widow’s family. He sent coal, a barrel of flour, some money for rent, and some articles of clothing for the children. There was one quite large package for Mary. What was in it nobody could imagine, though Mrs. Henson was in the secret. Finally a low whining was heard; the box was hastily opened, and out sprang Blackie into Mary’s lap, and kissed her over and over again. The child cried, and Blackie nestled her face against Mary’s neck and cried also. She was home again as a Christmas present, and she liked the plain home better than the grand one. “Did you really want to come back, Blackie,” said Mary, “and sleep with me again, and not be rich and great any more?” and Blackie wagged her tail and whined approvingly, as though it were the happiest Christmas of her life. THE CHRISTIAN HUNTER. “THIS IS Mr. Graham, a leader in our church work,” said Miss Ward, as she introduced the fine-looking young man to her friend Miss Warburton. “Oh, yes!” said the person addressed. “I remember seeing you at the lakes last summer. What a pleasant company we had at the hotel!”