“Yes, you know Uncle Pete has a lot of his pictures packed away. He means to have an exhibition of them some day with some of his own work.” “My mother always hoped that could be done sometime. Dear Don Pedro, it is like him to want to do that.” “Here comes Santa Claus. We’d better go over and see what he has for us.” So Ellen, escorted by the grotesque figure, crossed the room to where the tree, now lighted up by many colored electric bulbs, was fast becoming surrounded by the company. There was a gift, and sometimes more than one, for each person. “I can scarcely wait to see your present to me,” Ellen whispered to Mrs. Austin. She did not have to wait long, for in a few minutes Santa Claus handed her a small box which she opened immediately, to see smiling up at her the pictured face of her own mother, painted upon ivory. It was as much as the girl could do to choke back the tears, but she did, and had barely whispered her thanks when her name was again called, and another box was passed over to her. This contained a string of crystal beads, Mr. Austin’s gift, which she at once decided to wear. “May I see the miniature?” asked Reed at her elbow. “Mrs. Austin painted it; you know that miniatures are her specialty, and there is nothing in the world I would rather have,” Ellen told him. “It is such a good likeness of my dear mother.” The young man looked at it earnestly. “I don’t wonder you treasure it,” he said, “and——” But here he was interrupted by Mr. Barstow, who came up with a large package which he laid in Ellen’s arms, saying: “I wanted to give you this myself. It was your father’s, and I want you to have it.” Ellen eagerly undid the string and took off the wrappings. “Oh, Don Pedro, Don Pedro!” she breathed. “Daddy’s violin, and you are giving it to me? But I shouldn’t take it; it is too valuable.” “Not too valuable for dear old Gerry’s daughter. No, child, I want you to take it. All the better that it is valuable, for if you get into a hole some day you can sell it.” “Let me know when you reach the hole,” spoke up Reed. “I always have been crazy about that violin, haven’t I, Uncle Pete? It has a most wonderful tone.” “Then you have played on it.” “Often.” “Then play a farewell.” She gave the violin into his hands and he drew the bow across the strings, tuned up, and played the simple air of “Holy Night.” Then he handed back the instrument “Now you,” he said. “I know only one thing very well,” she announced, and began the melody she had played at the birthday party. “Dear old Jeremy Todd taught me that,” she said as she ended. “Jeremy Todd? You don’t mean to say you know old Jeremy?” exclaimed Mr. Barstow. “Where did you run across him? I’ve not seen him or heard of him for years. Used to know him well. What’s become of him, and why doesn’t he show up? Lots of talent. We all believed he would make his mark.”