He certainly had the best right to solve the mystery--it contained his Christmas present from grandmother; a picture in a bright gilt frame, which he brought forward, at her request, and placed in an excellent light. I never saw my father more affected than when he had the first glimpse of that picture. He did not say one word; but the tears rose to his eyes, and he went directly to grandmother, and, stooping down, kissed her forehead, putting back the silvery hair as he would have done to one of us, and holding his hand there a moment as if he said, "God bless you!" in his heart. It was the only affectionate caress I ever saw him give her, for he was usually self-composed, almost stern in manner, which was her own way. "But what is it about, grandmother--the story?" asked Josephine. "What a funny little baby!" commented Charlie. "Not half so pretty as ours. And such an ugly old gentleman! What is he doing with that eye-glass, mamma? It isn't double, like grandmother's." Maude and Elizabeth seemed interested to know whether it was to be hung in the parlor, and said the frame was very handsome. For myself, I saw in the picture a dark room, not at all like any in our house, with an old gentleman, whose long pointed beard reminded me of the Jewish doctors in the Temple--one of the prints in grandmother's large Bible. He seemed to be examining a ring through an eye-glass, and before him stood a lady with a very sad, anxious face. She wore a dark robe, of a quaint, though graceful fashion, and held a little child in her arms. I thought it was as pretty a picture as any in the annual Chester Adams had given Maude that morning, though I felt almost inclined to cry; the lady's face was so very sorrowful. "Who will read my story for me?" said grandmother, by and by, when papa had moved away from the back of her chair, and stood looking at the picture again with his hand over his eyes, to get a better light, I dare say. "I have written it, because there are some of these little people who would forget if it was only told them, and I should like to have it remembered as long as the picture is kept in the family; when you do not come to pass your Christmas evenings in grandmother's room," she added, after a little pause. It was the first time I heard her allude to her going from us; not that I think she dreaded death--no one was ever better prepared to meet it--but she was naturally reserved. I wondered papa did not offer to take the manuscript she held out; but he did not change his position; and Aunt Mary, always kind and thoughtful, volunteered her services. Grandmother said she was afraid the children would not be interested, and that it might trouble Aunt Mary to make out an old lady's crabbed handwriting. "It was not very long, to be sure," and then she straightened herself to listen, holding a little Chinese screen to shade her eyes from the fire, while Aunt Mary read:-- "THE TEMPTATION OF ALICE GRAY.