A pretty, if somewhat sombre picture, made father and daughter—he a noble looking man of sixty, tall, well-built, erect, but with hair which had changed very fast from iron grey to silver within the last few months, since the death of his wife. Anna's fair face looked all the fairer, and her figure more slender, because of the soft black dress she wore. Father and daughter had decided to have no family gathering at Cray Holm this Christmas. Each felt that it would be hard upon the little people to bring them to their grandfather's, and not provide for their enjoyment by gathering other children to make merry with them there. "Poor darlings! I should love to see them all, but I could not bear fun and frolic, and pattering feet, and ringing laughter, just yet. They might all be here, but without her, Anna, Cray Holm would not look a bit like Christmas. Another year, please God, I shall have become more used to it. So we will be very quiet, dear—you, auntie, and I together. Stay—is there any lonely person who would be made the happier for joining our trio and turning it into a quartet,—one who would enjoy Christmas with us in our sober way, and help us to thank God for all the happy memories the past can furnish, and the glorious hopes born for us poor, sinful mortals with the birth of Christ, our Saviour?" Mr. Spencer looked inquiringly at Anna. He had a motive in asking the question, and he watched a rising flush on her round cheek, which even the dim light sufficed to reveal. The girl turned off the question with a little quiet laugh, subdued for Aunt Adelaide's sake; and as she gave a half-frightened glance at the drowsy figure, then looked relieved to find that no harm had been done by the unintentional outbreak, she answered: "There is Mr. Roger Ulyett, papa. Would he like to come, think you?" Anna was young and loving. Somebody—we will not say who—had crept into the girl's warm heart, and would not be dislodged. She thought that no living being beside herself had the faintest guess as to the lodger that had established himself in that corner; but the loving heart gave a little flutter when her father asked his question. With a spirit of fun which even recent sorrow had not extinguished, the girl suggested "Mr. Roger Ulyett." The rippling smile on her face broke out into a decided laugh, which made Aunt Adelaide stir upon her soft cushions. It did more. The ripple spread even to the face of Mr. Spencer himself, and he shook his head at Anna, who exulted in the success of her ruse and its effect on her father. "I was not exactly thinking of Mr. Ulyett, Anna," replied he; "though, in spite of the way in which you have always persisted in laughing at him, he is a capital man; a gentleman, too, by birth, family, and education, for whom I have a true respect." "And so have I, papa," replied Anna; "only I prefer to respect him at a little distance, as a rule, you know."