Hazel and her mother had a long discussion regarding a suitable present to take to Granny. Hazel wanted to buy a black and white gingham dress she saw at Jordan, Marsh’s; but did Granny wear a thirty-six like her mother, or a forty-four, like Charity’s mamma? Such uncertainty made the dress impracticable. A pretty black and white kitten strayed into the Tyler flat and when Hazel had fed it, and become attached to it, she felt that it would be a better present even than the dress. No arguments concerning the difficulty of carrying a kitten to Alabama could make her forsake her plan; only when her mother asked that it be left to keep her company did Hazel at once give it up. “Yes, do keep it, Mother dear,” she said. But still Granny’s present was unsettled. Mrs. Perkins unconsciously determined what it should be. “Lucy,” she said, one day, “here is a card that entitles you to six photographs. You have a good picture of Hazel, but she has none of you. Please have them taken immediately and give the child one.” “Yes, and give one to Granny,” Hazel said. And although Mrs. Tyler protested, Granny’s present, carefully packed in many rolls of tissue paper, was her daughter-in-law’s picture tastefully framed. Hazel could not decide, even to the day of departure, whether she should give it to Granny on her arrival or should wait until Christmas. One day her minister climbed the tenement stairs and called upon her and her mother. The trunk was in the parlor and he examined with deep interest the contents that Hazel showed him. Especially he admired the pink sun-bonnet. “You must wear it to church next summer,” he said. “Only I should look at it so much I might forget to preach my sermon.” He encouraged Mrs. Tyler in what she was doing. “It will be the making of the child,” he assured her. “I’ve lived a little in that country and I know how healthful it is.” At parting he placed a package shaped like a book in Hazel’s hands. “This is for Christmas,” he said; and taking a pencil from his pocket, he wrote in big letters, “Not to be opened until Christmas.” Hazel gave him a kiss, and holding the book declared, “I will keep it sacredly until Christmas.” She walked down the stairs with him. “You’ll take good care of my mother at the church, won’t you?” she asked, squeezing his hand, “She works so hard. She says she’s saving to send me to college, and now I’ll lose a whole year at school. It troubles me.” “Why, it mustn’t trouble you, little girl,” said the minister. They reached the street and he looked down at her anxious face. “We will look after your mother. The ladies will see that she gets work. That is the only way that we can help her, for she will take nothing that she does not earn.” Then he raised his hat and bade the child good-bye. It was nearing the time of departure--Thursday, and the ship sailed Saturday. The trunk was packed for the last time, with Mrs. Tyler’s gifts, a box of writing-paper and a dictionary, on top.