"We do all the things, jokes and presents and all, in bundles," Theodora said, taking up the story in her eagerness; "and we put them all in this basket. It is an old clothes-basket, large as the house and broken, but we never change it. And then we draw them out, one at a time." "It's covered, you know, and we just fish under the cover, so as not to see what comes. They used to begin with me; but Allyn is the baby, and has the first chance now." In her interest, Phebe quite forgot to resent it when Theodora pulled her down into her lap. Billy sat looking from one to another of the group, wondering to see the faces brighten and grow eager as the talk ran on. "It sounds good fun," he said rather wishfully, as soon as there was a pause. "I suppose it's because there are such a lot of you." "The more the better, of course," Hope said. "We always have Susan and James come in to look on, and even Mulvaney has his new ribbon and a bone. He has learned to know the basket, and he lies down beside it as soon as it is brought in to be filled." "When do you do it?" "Christmas eve," Hubert answered. "We never could stand it till Christmas day. We always rush through supper, Christmas eve, to be ready as soon as we can. You should see our house when we get everything out of the basket." "I wish I could." "What do you do?" Phebe demanded. "Why, we give presents at breakfast; that's all. Of course it will be different, this year. Papa was here, last Christmas. He gave me my watch then." "Oh!" Phebe became round-eyed with admiration. "Did he give you that? I should think you would miss him." Hope came to the rescue. "It will be lonely, this year. I remember how it was, after mamma died. We didn't want to have any Christmas; but papa said she would rather we kept up the old ways, so we did just as we always had done." "I wish we did things the way you do." Billy pushed his hair impatiently away from his face. "You don't know how it seems to a fellow to be alone. It is no sort of fun." "Adopt us," Theodora suggested, laughing. Billy flashed at her a swift glance which told, plainly as words, how gladly he would carry out her suggestion. Passing through the hall, Mrs. McAlister had heard the children's talk. A little later, she knocked at the door of her husband's office. The doctor pushed aside the sheets of the essay he was writing for a medical journal, and rose to greet his wife. "Well, Bess, the sanctum is glad to see you." "Am I interrupting?" she asked, as she sat down by the table. "Not a bit. You never do." "So glad, for I want to talk, Jack." "What now? Is Phebe in mischief, or is Teddy proving obstreperous?" "Neither; it's only this." And she repeated the substance of the children's conversation. "Now are you ready to do some missionary work, Jack?" "Of course; anything you like. What is it?" "May Jessie and Will come to your Christmas eve?" "Ours," he corrected gently.