“I don’t doubt that,” replied Mrs. Mansfield. Then he went out and the crimson curtain fell behind him. * * * * * When Mariella came home her mother was sitting, rocking, by the window. The lamp was lighted. “Pills,” she said, “I want you to stop goin’ with that fello’.” The girl looked at her in silence. Then she took off her turban and stuck the long black pins back into it. “I thought you liked him,” she said, slowly. “I do, but Mr. Grover wants you—an’ I like him better.” “Wants _me_!” Mariella drew up her shoulders proudly. “Yes, you,” replied Mrs. Mansfield, laughing. The humor of the situation was beginning to appeal to her. “He says he’d told you. You must of laughed after I told you he wanted me.” “Oh, ma, does he want me, honest?” “Yes, he does.” She was still laughing. “An’ don’t you mind, ma?” “Not a mite,” said the widow, cheerfully. “I’d rather he’d marry you than me; only, I thought he was too nice a man to be lost to the fam’ly.” “Oh, ma!” “Well, get to bed now. He’s comin’ in the mornin’ to see you.” She took up the lamp and stood holding it irresolutely. “Pills,” she said, looking embarrassed, “You won’t ever tell him that I—— that I——” “Never, ma!” exclaimed the girl, earnestly; “as long as I live.” “All right, then. Look out! You’re droppin’ tallo’ from your candle! Don’t hold it so crooked, child! I wouldn’t like him to laugh about it. Good-night.” As she passed through the kitchen she called out: “Oh, Pills! Mr. Jordan brought in a mess of trout. We’ll have ’em fried for breakfast.” The girl came running after her mother, and threw her arms around her. “Oh, ma, are you sure you don’t care a bit?” “Not a bit,” said Mrs. Mansfield, kissing her heartily. “I just thought he ought to be in the family. I’m glad it’s turned out this way. Now, you go to bed, an’ don’t forget to roll up your bangs.” She went into her room and shut the door. MRS. RISLEY’S CHRISTMAS DINNER MRS. RISLEY’S CHRISTMAS DINNER She was an old, old woman. She was crippled with rheumatism and bent with toil. Her hair was gray,—not that lovely white that softens and beautifies the face, but harsh, grizzled gray. Her shoulders were round, her chest was sunken, her face had many deep wrinkles. Her feet were large and knotty; her hands were large, too, with great hollows running down their backs. And how painfully the cords stood out in her old, withered neck! For the twentieth time she limped to the window and flattened her face against the pane. It was Christmas day. A violet sky sparkled coldly over the frozen village. The ground was covered with snow; the roofs were white with it. The chimneys looked redder than usual as they emerged from its pure drifts and sent slender curls of electric-blue smoke into the air.