"I've got a ball," she ventured. "I'll let you play with it, Ella." "Got one of my own," said Ella, exhibiting a big rubber ball. An exclamation of dismay burst from Marian's lips. "Why, why--it's a potato!" she cried. "What did you expect?" inquired Aunt Amelia in chilling tones. "I guess that was just for a joke." The little girl smiled cheerfully as she said it, at the same time untying a box wrapped in tissue paper. Potatoes again. Marian shut her lips tight together and tried another package. More potatoes. Still she kept the tears back and reached for a long bundle. Removing the paper she found switches. Aunt Amelia and Ella watched silently as Marian, her eyes blazing and her cheeks growing a deeper red every second, emptied the stocking in which there was nothing but potatoes. Then the child rose, straightened her small figure to its full height and made this statement: "That wasn't never Santa Claus that did that!" "Look in the other stocking," Ella advised, "there are real presents in that one. I guess you will be a good girl now, won't you, Marian? Take the other stocking down, quick." "No," declared Marian, "I don't want any more potatoes. Nobody loves me and I don't care if they don't." Then she broke down and cried so hard, Ella cried too. "What's all the trouble?" asked Uncle George, entering the room at that moment. "Marian is making a scene and distressing both Ella and me," explained Aunt Amelia. "She has been highly impertinent and ungrateful. Ella, you may have the other stocking yourself." "But I don't want it," sobbed Ella. "I want Marian to have it." "Then we'll take it to the poor children this afternoon," said her mother. "They'll be glad to get it. Marian, don't drop what's in your apron. Now go to your room and think over how you've spoiled the peace of a family on Christmas morning. I'll bring your breakfast to you myself." "I don't want any breakfast," sobbed Marian, walking away with her apron full of potatoes. "Come back," called Uncle George. "You tell your aunt you are sorry you were so naughty, and you may come to breakfast with us. It's Christmas morning, child, why can't you behave?" "I wasn't naughty," sobbed Marian. "I----" "Not another word," put in Aunt Amelia. "Go to your room, stubborn, bad child. I can't have such an example continually before my little Ella. We'll have to put her in a reform school, George, if she doesn't improve." This remark fell upon unheeding ears so far as Marian was concerned. The minute the door of her little room closed behind her she dropped the potatoes upon the floor and throwing herself beside them cried as if her heart would break. "Oh, Nanna, Nanna, I want you," she sobbed. "Oh, where are you, oh, my Mrs. Moore?" CHAPTER IX AT THE RICH MAN'S TABLE