"'Take, then, brother, and use what is here enclosed. It has cost the sender no self-denial—he wishes it had, for the sake of Him in whose name he offers it to you. It rejoices his heart to devote it to your service. May yours be the lighter for receiving and using 'A brother's Christmas-box.'" Arthur read and re-read the letter, written in printing characters; but there was nothing to give him the slightest clue as to the sender—no mark on notes or paper; nothing on the envelope, except the postal impress, and London was a field far too wide to travel over in search of the unknown sender. Besides, Arthur had few acquaintances there, and none that he knew of anywhere who would be likely to send such a Christmas gift as this. He thought once of Leonard Thorold, but soon dismissed that idea from his mind. His brother-in-law elect knew comparatively little of him. Mr. Worthington? He was his true friend; but though his means were fairly good, they were not such as to render it likely that he would bestow so large a sum. Besides, the rector knew that it was more than treble the amount of the debts still owing. He could not guess. Stay: there were two men in Little Cray that were rich enough, but should either do such a thing? Mr. Ulyett he dismissed from his mind at once. Mr. Spencer? Ana then a crimson flush covered the curate's too pale cheek. If he had indeed done this! Off went Arthur into another dream, and in it, he said to himself, "If I stood now on the same ground that I did a few years ago, with college honours, my Fellowship, health, youth, strength, spirits, no debts or encumbrances, and a fair field to work in, I would not fear to try my fortune. But!" And here, you see, was the drawback. The "if" and the "but" spoiled the vision; and then the first chime of the bells told Arthur that it was high time for him to turn his steps in the direction of the old square tower whence the sound came. As he walked thither, he almost made up his mind that Mr. Spencer was the sender of his letter and its contents. "He is generous enough to do it—Christian enough to do it in such a spirit, and to accompany it with such a message," said he to himself. Mr. Ulyett was in his pew, with the usual look of preternatural keenness on his face. Mr. Spencer's good countenance had, as was common to it now, a shade of sadness. No wonder, on that day. But it lighted up as he listened to the old message which the angels brought, and as he joined in the song, "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good-will toward men." I do not think the curate's previous preparation had much to do with his actual sermon that Christmas morning; but his hearers said that "young parson had never preached like that before, and that he could beat even Mr. Worthington all to nothing."