“Why? Because they’re beginning to keep Christmas! We don’t believe in Christmas, do we? We say ‘Curse Christmas’ don’t we? Of course we do! Come along! _You’re_ not wanted and _I’m_ not wanted! One Timothy Two! Off we go!” * * * * * Another terrible rush and hurry-scurry through unknown heights and depths of the stormy air, and then with a sudden swoop and pounce, the Goblin dumped Josiah McNason down outside the garden gate of a pretty cottage in a quiet country lane. Here, as if by magic, the sky cleared to a bright blue, and the sun shone out brilliantly. Birds began to sing, and the scent of a thousand flowers perfumed every light breath of wind. “A little bit of sunshine, McNason!” whispered the Goblin--“It’s winter time for a good many Humans in many places, but it’s always summer here. It’s what WE call a ‘spiritual’ climate,--not affected by outside conditions!” The suffering millionaire, breathless, exhausted and conscious of a great aching pain at his heart, gazed at the peaceful scene before him in silence. It was a very little garden upon which he looked,--a mere tea-cup of a garden,--but full to the brim of the sweetest blossom. The cottage to which the garden belonged was likewise very small, but it had a deep and cosy porch, up which the loveliest jessamine clambered and threw out tufts of odorous white spray. Red roses thrust their warm glowing faces through the masses of snowy bloom, and, twining in friendly garlands, showered their velvety petals at the feet of a fair woman who sat just within the porch, with her arms thrown round a sturdy boy of some nine or ten years old. She was well worth the homage of the roses--for she was very sweet to look upon,--fresh-complexioned as the bloom on a peach,--soft-eyed,--full-bosomed, and of an aspect expressing the serenest peace, love and tenderness. “Once upon a time!” she said. “Oh, mother!” cried the boy she clasped, “That’s the old way of telling a story! Try some other way!” She laughed. “Darling, there’s no other way! Everything was ‘once upon a time’ wasn’t it?” The little fellow looked up at her seriously. “No, I don’t think so! You could never say you were my mother ‘once upon a time,’ could you? You are my mother always!” “Always!” she murmured--“That’s very true, little man! Your mother always!”--and her lips moved silently--“On earth, and, please God, in Heaven!” Josiah McNason, peering over the garden gate, now tried to open it, but found it inflexibly closed against him. He heaved an involuntary sigh. The Goblin echoed the sigh derisively. “Heigh-ho, Beelzebub!” it said--“Good-looking woman, eh, McNason? And a pretty boy! That’s her youngest. She’s got three sons and a lovely daughter. Feel a bit envious, McNason? Don’t you wish you hadn’t jilted her?” Josiah started. A sense of fear and shame began to tingle through his long-chilled blood. “She is--she----?” he faltered.