“No, it’s not a mistake,” said Mrs. Beatoun, with a sudden smile, as she added “and I’m in a position to know.” * * * * * “Yes, I’ve joined the Guild,” said Mrs. Briarley, with pride in her tone. “They’ve made me secretary already.” She did not know how cordially that position was made the portion of the stranger. She was talking to her husband the evening of his return. “Mrs. Beatoun couldn’t have been more interested about that five dollars if she had given it herself. You’ve no idea how nice everybody in the Guild is to me; they seem to take pains to be kind. But Mrs. Beatoun—there’s something about Mrs. Beatoun I can’t explain!” “Well?” said her husband, enjoyingly. Mrs. Briarley was in a washed white muslin, with ribbons the exact blue of her innocent eyes. She did not look as if she could be the mother of an Emily. “I believe Mrs. Beatoun is really—fond of me!” “That’s very strange,” said Mrs. Briarley’s husband. Madonna of the Toys: A Christmas Story Madonna of the Toys: A Christmas Story “I don’t know what to give him for Christmas!” Mrs. Tom looked tragically at the group consulting over their father-in-law in the old-fashioned library. Miss Clara, the unmarried daughter, had left the room. “We have a picture,” announced Mrs. Andrew complacently; “a cathedral interior, beautifully dark and perspective. Little Mary has a cup and saucer, and Francis a whisk broom.” “My boys can give black-bordered silk handkerchiefs,” said Mrs. Frank. “Clara suggests that I have that armchair re-covered, the one he never sits in.” “Malcolm had better get him another dozen cases of mineral water,” said Mrs. Malcolm. “When it’s in the house he drinks it. But that hardly seems enough, father’s so generous to us. I shall buy a small refrigerator for his room—it’s so useful in sickness.” “What do you think of rubber water-bags in assorted sizes?” suggested Mrs. Walter eagerly. “If he had a pain in two or three places at once they’d be very handy.” “Ah!” Mrs. Frank lowered her voice. “I dread coming here Christmas afternoon and staying to supper; don’t you? _We_ can get along all right, and the little girls bring their dolls, but boys are so restless—and men, too! It was so different when Kate and her children were living here, but last year——! Clara doesn’t know how to make the house attractive.” “She worries so now that father has to stay up-stairs,” agreed Mrs. Malcolm feelingly. “The boys love their grandfather, but there’s nothing for them to do. Why, Violet, you’re not going?” “I must,” answered a girl with reddish hair and pretty, long-lashed eyes, who was Mrs. Arthur. She had risen, and was throwing a white boa around her neck. Her white teeth flashed suddenly in a smile: “I never was of so much importance before. Good-bye, everybody!”