The Chemist rose. "I want to give it now," he said, and left the room. In a moment he returned, carrying a mahogany pedestal under one arm and a square parcel in the other. He set the pedestal upright on the floor in a corner of the room and began opening the package. It was a mahogany case, cubical in shape. He lifted its cover, disclosing a glass-bell set upon a flat, mahogany slab. Fastened to the center of this was a handsome black plush case, in which lay a gold wedding-ring. Lylda drew in her breath sharply and held it; the three other men stared at the ring in amazement. The Chemist was saying: "And I decided not to destroy it, Lylda, for your sake. There is no air under this glass cover; the ring is lying in a vacuum, so that nothing can come out of it and live. It is quite safe for us to keep it--this way. I thought of this plan, afterwards, and decided to keep the ring--for you." He set the glass bell on the pedestal. Lylda stood before it, bending down close over the glass. "You give me back--my world," she breathed; then she straightened up, holding out her arms toward the ring. "My birthplace--my people--they are safe." And then abruptly she sank to her knees and began softly sobbing. Loto called from upstairs and they heard him coming down. Lylda went back hastily to the fire; the Chemist pushed a large chair in front of the pedestal, hiding it from sight. The boy, in his night clothes, stood on the hearth beside his mother. "There is the stocking, _mamita_. Where shall I hang it?" "First the prayer, Loto. Can you remember?" The child knelt on the hearth, with his head in his mother's lap. "Now I lay me----" he began softly, halting over the unfamiliar words. Lylda's fingers stroked his brown curly head as it nestled against her knees; the firelight shone golden in his tousled curls. The Chemist was watching them with moist eyes. "His first Christmas," he murmured, and smiled a little tender smile. "His first Christmas." The child was finishing. "And God bless Aura, and Jack, and----" "And Grandfather Reoh," his mother prompted softly. "And Grandfather Reoh--and _mamita_, and----" The boy ended with a rush--"and me too. Amen. Now where do I hang the stocking, mother?" In a moment the little stocking dangled from a mantel over the fireplace. "You are sure he will come?" the child asked anxiously again. "It is certain, Loto--if you are asleep." Loto kissed his mother and shook hands solemnly with the men--a grave, dignified little figure. "Good night, Loto," said the Big Business Man. "Good night, sir. Good night, my father--good night, _mamita_; I shall be asleep very soon." And with a last look at the stocking he ran out of the room. "What a Christmas he will have," said the Banker, a little huskily. A girl stood in the doorway that led into the dining-room adjoining--a curious-looking girl in a gingham apron and cap. Lylda looked up.