From Billy came a book. Perhaps you can fancy how Maida jumped when she read “The Crystal Ball,” by William Potter, on the cover. But I do not think you can imagine how pleased she looked when inside she read the printed dedication, “To Petronilla.” From her father came a beautiful miniature of her mother, painted on ivory. The children crowded about her to see the beautiful face of which Maida had told them so much. There was the mass of golden hair which she had described so proudly. There, too, was a heart-shaped pendant of diamonds, suspended from a black velvet ribbon tied close to the white throat. The children looked at the picture. Then they looked at each other. But Maida did not notice. She was watching eagerly while Dr. Pierce and Billy and her father opened her gifts to them. She was afraid they would not understand. “They’re to save time, you see, when you want to shave in a hurry,” she explained. “Maida,” her father said gravely, “that is a very thoughtful gift. It’s strange when you come to think of it, as busy a man as I am and with all the friends I have, nobody has ever thought to give me a safety razor.” “I don’t know how I ever managed to get along without one,” Dr. Pierce declared, his curls bobbing. “As for me—I shall probably save about a third of my income in the future,” Billy announced. All three were so pleased that they laughed for a long time. “I’m going to give you another Christmas present, Maida,” Mr. Westabrook said suddenly, “I’m going to give us both one—a vacation. We’re going to start for Europe, week after next.” “Oh, papa, papa, how lovely!” Maida said. “Shall we see Venice again? But how can I give up my little shop and my friends?” “Maida going away!” the children exclaimed. “Oh, dear! oh, dear!” “But Mr. Westabrook, isn’t Maida coming back again?” Rosie asked. “How I shall miss her!” Laura chimed in. “Take my lamb away,” Granny wailed. “Sure, she’ll be tuk sick in those woild counthries! You’ll have to take me wid you, Misther Westabrook—only—only—” She did not finish her sentence but her eyes went anxiously to her daughter’s face. “No, Granny, you’re not to go,” Mr. Westabrook said decisively; “You’re to stay right here with your daughter and her children. You’re all to run the shop and live over it. Maida’s old enough and well enough to take care of herself now. And I think she’d better begin to take care of me as well. Don’t you think so, Maida?” “Of course I do, papa. If you need me, I want to.” “Mr. Westabrook,” Molly broke into the conversation determinedly, “did you ever give Maida a pair of Shetland ponies?” Mr. Westabrook bent on the Robin the most amused of his smiles. “Yes,” he said. “And an automobile?” Tim asked. Mr. Westabrook turned to the Bogle. “Yes,” he said, a little puzzled. “And did Maida’s mother have a gold brush with her initials in diamonds on it?” Rosie asked. Mr. Westabrook roared. “Yes,” he said.