“There’s little Pat on the cow-pony that you told him he might ride,” Margaret said, looking out of the window. “I will ask him if he would like to go with us,” Virginia remarked. The little lad was delighted to accompany the two girls, and half an hour later the three were riding along the desert trail toward the Slater Ranch, where they were to meet Malcolm. “I just love Christmas, don’t you, Virg?” Margaret exclaimed, when, the deep dry creek having been crossed, the girls were cantering along on the hard sand side by side. “It’s such fun to get packages by mail and then put them away to keep until Christmas. Of course I know just where they are, and every now and then I peek at them and try to guess from the shape what is in them, but I am strong-minded about it. I never do really open them until Christmas morning, do you?” Virginia laughed. “I’ll have to confess that last year I opened a long, mysterious box the moment it arrived. I was so eager to see if it was the something that I wanted most, and it was.” “What was it?” the other asked with interest. “A set of grey fox furs,” Virginia replied. “Brother shot the fox in the early winter and I had said what an adorable set of furs could be made from the skin. Well, I noticed that it disappeared from Buddie’s room, but I wasn’t real sure what had become of it until that box arrived from the town furrier.” Suddenly the girls noticed that the little Irish boy riding near was listening with wide-eyed interest. “Well, Little Pat,” Margaret said gaily, “a penny for your thoughts.” “But Miss Virginia,” was the reply, “Christmas presents don’t come on the train. Weren’t you after knowin’ that it’s the good St. Nick as brings them?” “Of course, dearie,” Virginia hastened to say, “I know it is the good St. Nick who brings presents to children, but we grown folks sometimes give gifts to each other. Ho! look ahead! Megsy,” she added. “There’s Brother Malcolm waiting for us at the Big Boulder, and good! Slick Cy is with him.” The latter cow-boy had told Malcolm all about the poor family that Virginia had rescued, and he was eager to assure his sister that she had done just as he would have wished her to do had he been there. After the merry greetings had been exchanged, Virginia exclaimed “Where are we to go for a Christmas tree, Slick Cy?” “Ah saw a beauty tree last week, high on Second Peak trail,” that cow-boy drawled. Then he looked anxiously at the sky. “Looks sort of to me like thar might be a blizzard. If so, ’twouldn’t be safe nohow fo’ you gurls to ride up that trail.” “Oh, please, let us go,” Margaret begged. “I’m wild to see a pine tree growing up in the mountains. I don’t believe a storm is coming, do you, Malcolm?” That boy looked toward the north where threatening clouds were rapidly gathering. “I’m afraid Slick Cy is right,” he said. “Perhaps we ought to give up the idea of getting the tree today.”