Ah, well, that was long ago; fifteen--seventeen years ago. They have been comfortable, uneventful years to John and Alice; whether or not you call them happy must depend on what you think happiness means. They have brought prosperity and more promotions, and John is back in the city, vice-president of the great Atlantic National. But his ambition has not been satisfied, for, on the Christmas Eve when we again pick up the thread of his life, his father, old John Bagsbury, crustier and more withered than ever, and more than ever distrustful of his son’s ability, is still president of Bagsbury and Company’s Savings Bank. CHAPTER II DICK HASELRIDGE On this Christmas Eve Dick Haselridge was picking her way swiftly through the holiday crowd, but her glance roved alertly over the scene, and everything she saw seemed to please her. The cries of the shivering toy venders on the sidewalk, and the clashing of gongs on the overcrowded cable cars that passed, came to her ears with a note of merriment that must have been assumed especially for Christmastide. To walk rapidly was no easy matter, for the motion of the crowd was irregular; now fast, across some gusty, ill-lighted spot, now slowing to a mere stroll, and now ceasing altogether before a particularly attractive shop window. The wind, too, had acquired a mischievous trick of pouncing upon you from an always unexpected direction. Dick scorned to wear a veil in any weather, and her hair blew all about and into her eyes, and as one of her hands was occupied with her muff and her purse, and the other with keeping her skirts out of the slush, she would pause and wait for the wind to blow the refractory lock out of the way again. Then she would laugh, for it was all part of the lark to Dick, and start on. In one of these pauses she saw a little imp-faced newsboy looking up at her with a grin so infectious that she smiled back at him. The effect of that smile upon the boy was immediate; he sprang forward, collided with one passer-by, then with another, and seemed to carrom from him to a position directly in front of Dick. “Did ye want a piper, miss?” he gasped. He was still grinning. “Yes,” laughed Dick, and heedless of the slush she let go her skirt and drew the purse from her muff. “This is jolly, isn’t it?” she said, fishing a dime from her purse and handing it to him. “Oh, I haven’t any place to carry a paper. Never mind. I’ll get it from you some other time. Merry Christmas,” and with a bright nod she was gone.