"We are celebrating the birth of Christ. I am the image of the Angel who brought the news, and I come each year to each tree to remind all people that 'Unto you a Child is born,' and you all pain me by quarrelling over prices at such a time." A sort of shamed silence settled on all the toys. The gold ball glanced at his lady love, but she was looking gravely down into the green below. Then Santa Claus gave himself a little shake. "You have made us all feel solemn, when we want to be gay," he said. "Can't some one start a song?" "I will," said the Angel, and he straightway began chanting, "'Twas the Night before Christmas," and they all joined in; and when it was finished all solemnity had disappeared, and wild gayety and good temper prevailed. The evening was a great success. There were a great many people, and much light and laughter. The tree was praised, and our friends came in for their share of the admiration. When the guests had gone, Mrs. Miller called the maids to her. "Undress the tree in the morning," she said. "Save the larger balls, the dolls, and the tinsel animals, and throw all the smaller things away. Good-night. Come, Estelle." Consternation fell on the ornaments. The larger ones gave sighs of relief, and the smaller ones shudders of horror. The little balls glanced at one another and laughed nervously. "She cannot mean us," they said, "we are so beautiful and expensive." And Pinky thought again of the baby. "He would never have thrown us away," she murmured to herself. The night passed in speculation and very little sleep; and when the first rays of light peeped in through the shades, one of the balls--a blue one--was discovered on the ground in pieces. He had thrown himself down rather than be thrown away. The maids came early, and the work of undoing the tree began. Slowly the larger articles, including the tinsel animals, were removed and put away, until nothing remained but a few cheaper paper ornaments and the sad eleven balls, with their pride gone, and their souls humbled to the dust. For they were to be thrown out,--they, the pride of the Christmas tree table, and all their boasts were for nothing. The rich had bought them, and now the rich were throwing them away. The thought of the ash can made them shiver, and the gold ones hoped they would break in the act. * * * * * "I thought Christmas Day was different from other days," remarked a small, ragged boy to a larger, but equally ragged little girl, as they slipped and slid on the icy pavement on Christmas morning, in search of any odd bits that might be left in the ash cans that plentifully sprinkled the edge of the curb at this early hour. "It is different, someway," answered the small girl, vaguely. "There's presents for some folks and trees, I think it's trees, for others." "Trees? What for? I don't think a tree is much of a present," sniffed the little boy, contemptuously, "I'd rather have a drum."