It wasn't a Christmas Gift like toys and games. It wasn't a Birthday Gift all stockings and handkerchiefs. It was the _Gift of Finding Things_! He called it "The Gift of the Probable Places." Most any time when you lost anything he could find it for you. He didn't find it by floating a few tea-leaves in a cup. Or by trying to match cards. Or by fooling with silly things like ghosts. He didn't even find it with his legs. He found it with his head. He found it by thinking very hard with his head. People came from miles around to borrow his head. He always charged everybody just the same no matter what it was that they'd lost. One dollar was what he charged. It was just as much trouble to him he said to think about a thimble that was lost as it was to think about an elephant that was lost.--I never knew anybody who lost an elephant. When the Post Master's Wife lost her diamond ring she hunted more than a hundred places for it! She was most distracted! She thought somebody had stolen it from her! She hunted it in all the Newspapers! She hunted it in all the stores! She hunted it all up and down the Village streets! She hunted it in the Depot carriage! She hunted it in the Hired Girl's trunk! Miles and miles and miles she must have hunted it with her hands and with her feet! But Old Man Smith found it for her without budging an inch from his wheel-chair! Just with his head alone he found it! Just by asking her a question that made her mad he found it! The question that made her mad was about her Baptismal name.--Her Baptismal name was Mehetabelle Euphemia. "However in the world," said Old Man Smith, "did you get such a perfectly hideous name as Mehetabelle Euphemia?" The Post Master's wife was madder than Scat! She wrung her hands. She snapped her thumbs! She crackled her finger-joints! "Never--_Never_," she said had she been "so insulted!" "U-m-m-m--exactly what I thought," said Old Man Smith. "Now just when--if you can remember, was the last time that you felt you'd never been so insulted before?" "Insulted?" screamed the Post Master's Wife. "Why, I haven't been so insulted as this since two weeks ago last Saturday when I was out in my back yard under the Mulberry Tree dyeing my old white dress peach-pink! And the Druggist's Wife came along and asked me if I didn't think I was just a little bit too old to be wearing peach-pink?--_Me_--_Too Old? Me?_" screamed the Post Master's Wife. "U-m-m," said Old Man Smith. "Pink, you say? Pink?--A little powdered Cochineal, I suppose? And a bit of Cream o' Tartar? And more than a bit of Alum? It's a pretty likely combination to make the fingers slippery.--And a lady what crackles her finger-joints so every time she's mad,--and snaps her thumbs--and?--Yes! Under the Mulberry Tree is a _very Probable Place_!--One dollar, please!" said Old Man Smith.