"I don't care if they do," said Jessie; "I'm going to have one, pretty soon, that will make you all envy me." "Whose?" asked Alan. "That's telling," responded Jessie mysteriously. "How are you going to get it?" inquired Polly. "I've asked for it," replied Jessie, with a knowing smile. "Is it somebody I know?" asked her sister. "No, not exactly; but it's somebody that everyone in this whole world knows about." "Jessie Shepard, what crazy thing have you been doing?" demanded Katharine. "I shan't tell." And Jessie shut her lips defiantly. "Oh, come on, Jessie, tell us," urged Alan, while Katharine added,-- "If you don't tell me, Jessie, I shall speak to auntie. I know you have done something you are ashamed of." Jessie laughed good-naturedly. "Don't be silly and make such a fuss over nothing, Kit. I only wanted to tease you a little; I'd just as soon tell as not. I'll give you each a guess, and then, if you don't get it, I'll tell you. That's fair, isn't it? Who'll you guess, Kit?" "Oliver Wendell Holmes," said Katharine promptly. Jessie smiled disdainfully. "Wrong. What should I want of him?" "I should think anybody would want him," returned Katharine. "He's the greatest person I could think of; and besides, you've just been studying about him." "Well, he isn't the one," said Jessie. "Go on, Alan." "The President of these United States," suggested Alan pompously. "Never!" responded Jessie fervently. "I'm a Democrat, you know, so I don't want him. But you're in the right track. Polly, who is it?" "General Grant," said Polly. "He died ever so long ago, Polly," corrected Alan. "Oh, yes, so he did. Well, let's see. The Mayor of Omaha?" "No! No! No!" said Jessie. "I didn't say it was a man, any way. It's a woman; she's an English-man and she's a queen." "Jessie!" And Katharine dropped into a chair, too much horrified to say more. "You don't mean to say," queried Polly, "that you've been and gone and asked Queen Victoria to send you her autograph?" Jessie nodded triumphantly. "Well, she won't," returned Polly, with deliberate emphasis, while Alan laughed, and laughed again at the absurd idea. Then Jessie showed her trump card. "Yes, she will," she said, with a firmness born of conviction; "she will too, for I put in a two-cent stamp for her to answer with. There!" CHAPTER XI JEAN'S CHRISTMAS EVE. Christmas mystery was in the air. For weeks the girls had been busy over all sorts of gay trifles which were whisked out of sight, now and then, to avoid some particular pair of curious eyes that were not intended to see them until the proper moment came. "What's the use of making such a time about it?" inquired Alan, in some disgust one day. He had rushed breathlessly into the room to announce the first skating of the season, and was greeted with four protesting voices, as the girls tried to cover up the stripes of the afghan they were making for his own especial use.