"Thanks, little mother," said he, then bent down and kissed her. "You have carried out the thought that came into my own mind after we were talking of Joyce the other evening. It would have brought back old times most delightfully if she could have come to us, but seeing she is obliged to refuse, we must make all the more of each other. One thing, however, I should like to do. You know how Joyce thought of all the poor folk at Christmas time, and stirred up the richer ones to give of their abundance, so that there might be a cheery fireside and a well-spread table in every cottage. You can tell me just how she managed this, and whom she helped. We will do it this year, and tell the people that we act for their old friend and pastor, Mr. Mirlees, and for Joyce. They will miss her face as we shall, little mother, but they shall miss nothing else, and still, as in old times, many a voice will pray, 'May God bless Miss Joyce, and give her a happy Christmas, and many more to follow it!'" "It is a good thought, Alec, and we will carry it out together. I will write and tell Joyce, and that it was your suggestion. Or would you like to write yourself?" "Thanks, no; you shall write, and put in all the kind wishes you can think of on my behalf," which decision perplexed Mrs. Caruth not a little. She had quite expected an eager affirmative response when she proposed that Alec should write to Joyce, and was somewhat disappointed at his matter-of-fact refusal. Could it be that, after all, Joyce was only thought of as the child-friend of her son's youthful days? Contradictory as this may seem, Mrs. Caruth was quite prepared to be indignant, should this prove to be the case, and to ask what he could want in a wife which he would not find in Joyce? Also, where should she meet one whom she would so gladly welcome as a daughter? This second letter from Mrs. Caruth delighted Joyce, as may well be imagined. One of her troubles in connection with the coming season had been caused by the thought of her poor friends at Welton. The new clergyman had a delicate wife and a family of young children. He could not take up Joyce's old work, and there was no one else to step into the gap and do it. Joyce one day accompanied Mrs. Ross in a drive to town, and while she was buying Christmas gifts for her friends and household, the girl strolled through the market, crowded to overflowing with everything suggestive of good cheer. She asked prices, and began to calculate how many dinners the utmost amount she could spare would purchase for some of her poorest friends at Welton. She had already occupied her spare moments in making a number of pretty and useful articles for them. Joyce sighed as she said to herself— "The most I can do is so little when compared with their need and my desire to help them; but I must do my best and leave the rest."