"Tell me all about it, dear, and let the old glove go," he said, sitting down beside her with his most sympathetic air. But she held the glove fast, saying eagerly, "No, no, I love to do this! I don't feel as if I could look at you while I tell what a bad, suspicious girl I am," she added, keeping her eyes upon her work. "Very well, I'm ready for confessions of any iniquity, and glad to get them; for sometimes lately I've seen a cloud in my girl's eyes, and caught a worried tone in her voice. Is there a bitter drop in the cup that promised to be so sweet, Rose?" "Yes, uncle. I've tried to think there was not; but it _is_ there, and I don't like it. I'm ashamed to tell; and yet I want to, because you will show me how to make it sweet, or assure me that I shall be the better for it, as you used to do when I took medicine." She paused a minute, sewing swiftly; then out came the trouble all in one burst of girlish grief and chagrin. "Uncle, half the people who are so kind to me don't care a bit for me, but for what I can give them; and that makes me unhappy, because I was so glad and proud to be liked. I do wish I hadn't a penny in the world, then I should know who my true friends were." "Poor little lass! she has found out that all that glitters is not gold, and the dis-illusion has begun," said the doctor to himself, adding aloud, smiling yet pitiful, "And so all the pleasure is gone out of the pretty gifts, and Christmas is a failure?" "Oh, no! not for those whom nothing can make me doubt. It is sweeter than ever to make _these_ things, because my heart is in every stitch; and I know that, poor as they are, they will be dear to you, Aunty Plen, Aunt Jessie, Phebe, and the boys." She opened a drawer where lay a pile of pretty gifts, wrought with loving care by her own hands; touching them tenderly as she spoke, and patting the sailor's knot of blue ribbon on one fat parcel with a smile that told how unshakable her faith in some one was. "But _these_," she said, pulling open another drawer, and tossing over its gay contents with an air half sad, half scornful, "these I _bought_ and give because they are expected. _These_ people only care for a rich gift, not one bit for the giver, whom they will secretly abuse if she is not as generous as they expect. How _can_ I enjoy that sort of thing, uncle?" "You cannot; but perhaps you do some of them injustice, my dear. Don't let the envy or selfishness of a few poison your faith in all. Are you sure that none of these girls care for you?" he asked, reading a name here and there on the parcels scattered about.