"From among the rest I have chosen for myself a squat bottle, a box of biscuits, and a tin of the little imported sausages that you taught me to like. "Well, my dear fellow, happy days! To-morrow morning I shall breakfast at your expense, unless you shall decide that I must breakfast behind bars. "If you should come to-night, you will find in the window a red candle shining. They have put it there to guide St. Nicholas and a certain Fluffy Ruffles doll! "Ever yours, "Tony." He found an envelope, sealed, and addressed it. Then he went to work. Four trips he made down the stairs. Four times he tiptoed into the shadowed room, where the long red candle burned. And when he turned to take a last look there on the table beside the tree stood the blue doll for Milly and the Fluffy Ruffles doll for Pussy and the rattles and rings and blocks for the baby, and on the chairs and the shelf above the tree were the other things--the great cake and the fruit and the big basket and the boxes of candy. And for the little mother there were the violets and a note: "The red candle winked at your window and brought me in. It is useless to search for me--for now and then a Prince passes and goes on. And he is none the less a Prince because you do not know him." And now there was that other note to deliver. Out in the cold once more, he found the moon gone and the snow falling. As he passed the saint on the old church, it seemed to smile down at him. The towers and gables were sheeted with white. His footsteps made no sound on the padded streets. He left the note at Whiting's door. He fancied that, as the footman held it open, he saw Marion shining on the stairs! He was glad after that to get home and to bed, and to the warmth of his blanket. There was the warmth, too, of the wine. In a little while he was asleep. On the table by his untidy bed was the box of biscuits and the bottle and the tin of tiny sausages. If all went well he would feast like a lord on Christmas morning! RETURNED GOODS Perhaps the most humiliating moment of Dulcie Cowan's childhood had been when Mary Dean had called her Indian giver. Dulcie was a child of affluence. She had always had everything she wanted; but she had not been spoiled. She had been brought up beautifully and she had been taught to consider the rights of others. She lived in an old-fashioned part of an old city, and her family was churchly and conscientious. Indeed, so well-trained was Dulcie's conscience that it often caused her great unhappiness. It seemed to her that her life was made up largely of denying herself the things she wanted. She was tied so rigidly to the golden rule that her own rights were being constantly submerged in the consideration of the rights of others.