“Then, Willie Grant, this is Miss Lizzie Dinsmoor, who is, I am sure, glad to see you, since it was at her request that I invited you to enter.” Willie raised his eyes timidly, and bent them for a moment on the singularly beautiful child, who had come forward and frankly placed her hand in his. There is something irresistible in the witchery of beauty; and Willie felt a warm glow crimsoning his cheeks, as for a moment, forgetful of every thing else, he bent his eyes earnestly upon Lizzie. Then another feeling came over him; and, with a look of shame at his scanty and ill-fitting garments, he dropped her hand, and involuntarily shrank back, as if seeking to screen them from sight. Perceiving the movement, and guessing its cause, Mr. Dinsmoor, with a view to dissipate these feelings, led forward Harry and Charlie, the younger boys, and told them to make acquaintance with Willie. With loud shouts of delight, they displayed the various gifts which St. Nicholas had brought them, and challenged his admiration. Every thing was new to Willie. His childhood had not been smiled upon by Fortune; and the costly toys which the boys exhibited elicited quite as much admiration as they could desire. Occupied in this way, his constraint gradually wore off to such a degree that he assisted Charlie and Harry in trying their new toys. Soon, however, the recollection that it was growing late, and that he had yet to find his way home, came to him; and, taking his old hat, he said to Mr. Dinsmoor, in an embarrassed manner,— “My mother will be expecting me home; and I should already have been there, but that I lost my way, and happened to look in at your window, and you were so kind as to let me come in.” “Where does your mother live, my little fellow?” asked Mr. Dinsmoor. “On ⸺ Street.” “Oh! that is not far off. I will myself show you the way, if you will remain a few minutes longer.” Mr. Dinsmoor rang the bell, and ordered a plate of cake and apples, as he conjectured they would not be unacceptable to his little visitor. Meanwhile, Lizzie crept to her mother’s side, and whispered,— “Willie is poor,—isn’t he?” “Yes. What makes you ask?” “I thought he must be, because his clothes look so thin, and patched. Don’t you think he would like a Christmas present, mother?” “Yes, my darling. Have you any thing to give him?” “I thought, mother, perhaps you would let me give him my five-dollar gold-piece. I think that would be better than any playthings. May I give it?” “Yes, my child, if you are really willing. But are you quite sure that you would not regret it afterwards?” “Yes, mother.” And Lizzie ran lightly to the little box where she kept her treasure, quickly brought it forth, and placed it in Willie’s hand. “That is your Christmas present,” said she, gayly. Willie looked surprised. “Do you mean it for me?” he asked, in a half-bewildered tone. “Yes, if you like it.”