"It is because we are so good," Marjorie explained; "for you know that fairies never bring presents to naughty children, only just stones and mud." We all laughed as we continued our occupation each untying in turn a parcel marked with the name of the recipient and the good fairy who had been responsible for its safe delivery from the foot of Old Baldy. With each discovery the air was flooded with shrieks of approval. Marjorie rejoiced over every little treasure, while Mariposilla embraced us excitedly at each happy surprise. Even the Doña Maria grew artlessly gay, appearing to forget that the grandmother might soon awaken, to be cared for like an infant, and that Christmas was now but a colorless counterfeit of years past. "Ah!" exclaimed the sympathetic mother, when Mariposilla held up for admiration a little silver bracelet; "it is almost like the happiness of the old days. Not the same; for the Spanish gave not gifts, but the good cheer is most sweet. I grieve," she continued, "that the Señora and my child should not have known those once glad days--now gone forever. Then, all went about from rancho to rancho, free from sorrow; always joyful in abundance. But the holiday is no more what it once was--so full of mirth and sweet enjoyment for both old and young; yet ever sacred, for none dared forget to go to the old church when the bells rang lovingly the birth of the Holy Child. "Dear Señora," she continued, her dark eyes intensifying with awakening memories; "could you have seen the beauty of the old Spanish life, then, with thy gentle heart, tears would now fall for those of us who are left." With increasing melancholy she explained that her child refused to grieve for the departed glory of her family. "I am often miserable when I remember how different I once felt, so full of joy and pride when I dreamed that my children would thank always the sweet Mother for the nobility of their father's name. Yet I blame not Mariposilla; for she saw not my husband, Don Arturo. Her life was too late to know of his goodness and beauty. I could forgive always her thoughtless indifference, if only sometimes she would weep when I show her the riding jacket embroidered with gold, and the botas of exceeding richness, once worn by her dear father. But she is cold, and understands not what she has lost. She would even profane the precious shawls of her grandmother, urging that some be sold to envious Americans for gold!" Poor Doña Maria! I feared that her transient happiness had fled. But she soon controlled the dash of bitterness that tinctured for a moment her reminiscences, and continued to describe the wonderful days, once enjoyed by her now scattered and Americanized people.