“Such things ain’t Christian, especially on the Lord’s birthday. Tell me, Miss, was it you killed it—some said it was you and some said it was the poor paralysed gentleman, who was cured so miraculous like.” “It was Professor Pendragon. Have you seen him today?” “Indeed, we’ve all seen him. He’s walking round all over the place, and he’s give ev-er-ey servant in the house a five dollar gold piece!” This amazing piece of information gave Ruth a shock. In her selfish absorption in Gloria and herself she hadn’t thought of the servants and the inevitable toll of Christmas gifts. “Do you know, Jennie, I didn’t buy any gifts before I came up here and I almost forgot, but I want to give you a present—” She was just about to offer money, and then something in the kind, stolid face warned her that this would be wrong. “I’d like to give you something of my own that you like. If you’ll just tell me what you want you can have anything of mine—any dress or hat or—well, just anything you like.” The girl’s eyes spread wide. “Anything?” “Yes, anything, that is, if I have anything you like. If not I’ll have to follow Professor Pendragon’s example and give you money to buy your own gift.” “You’ve got such lots of pretty clothes—” Ruth thought her wardrobe very limited, but waited. “There is one dress—not a party dress—I’ve always wanted one—there ain’t any place to wear it, but if you could—do you really mean it—anything?” “Of course,” said Ruth, expecting a request for one of her three presentable evening gowns. “Then I’d like that blue silk thing with the lots of lace—the thing you wear here in your own room.” She pointed to a negligée thrown over a chair by the dressing-table. “Take it; it will make me very happy to know that you have it.” She tried to visualize Jennie in the negligée, but the picture was not funny. She turned her head away so that Jennie should not see the tears in her eyes. “You’ll most likely be getting a lot of things yourself, Miss; a man’s gone down to the village for the mail. You’ll be getting a lot of things from the city.” “I’m afraid not; still I may get some letters which will be welcome.” “I’ll go down and see—he may be back. He went early.” She was back in an incredibly short space of minutes bearing one letter, from Dorothy Winslow. “And Miss Mayfield wants to know if you’ll come to her room when you’re dressed,” said Jennie, who, seeing that Ruth was going to read her letter, left her with another hurried, awkward “thank you, Miss,” delivered through the door as she hurried off with her blue silk prize. Dorothy’s Christmas letter fairly bubbled over with happiness, and with an affection for Ruth which she had never suspected.