It was Christmas Eve. Slick Cy and Malcolm had returned toward nightfall with a fine tree, to the delight of the girls, who had it erected in the big living-room, where they spent a merry hour covering its branches with shining ornaments. Virginia and Margaret were happily excited. “Virg,” Megsy exclaimed, “don’t you think that Malcolm and Slick Cy act as though they have a secret that they don’t wish us to know?” “Yes, I have noticed it,” Virginia said as she stood on a chair to place a tiny doll on the top-most bough. “What do you suppose it can be?” “Perhaps they have a present for us,” Margaret replied. Then she added: “I keep thinking of poor Babs and wishing that she was with us.” “Why poor? I thought you said that Babs has a good income.” Virginia held a toy horse as she glanced inquiringly at her friend. “Babs is always so sad at the holiday time,” Margaret explained. “She tries to seem cheerful but there is such a lonely, wistful expression in her eyes and then once she told me that Christmas had never been a happy season for her since her brother Peyton left home.” “I, too, say ‘poor Babs,’” Virginia said earnestly. “I do indeed wish that she were here. Now, dear, if you will give me that taper I will light the candles.” Margaret did this and then stepped back. “How pretty the tree looks with all those sparkling ornaments,” she said. “Doesn’t it?” Virginia had joined her friend. Then as she blew out the light of the taper she added: “One of the boys is to play Santa Claus—I don’t know which one—but brother told me to have Mrs. Mahoy and the kiddies over here promptly at seven o’clock. Since it is ten minutes to that hour I’ll skip over to their house and call them.” A moment later the three shining-eyed Irish children burst into the room and the older girls could not have found little ones more willing to skip and dance about their tree, for how those small Mahoys did squeal and clap their hands and hop for joy! “See ’ittle dollies way up top!” Baby Cola lisped as she tried to drag her pale, sad-eyed mother over toward the tree. The older girls looked at the little woman and their hearts ached for her, for well they knew that there could be no real happiness for her unless she could find her lost husband. “Everybody be seated, quick!” Margaret called as the clock struck 7. “Santa will be coming now.” Such a scramble as there was for chairs, and then, “Oh! Oh! See Santa!” Baby Cola and 5-year-old Dora cried in excited chorus. The dining-room had opened to admit someone dressed to represent the good old saint. Margaret and Virginia stared for a moment, uncomprehending, for this apparition was not of the build of either Slick Cy or Malcolm, both of whom were broad-shouldered young giants. The Santa Claus, however, evidently had been told what to do, for, after making a fine bow he straightway reached to the highest branch, and taking down the dollies, he called: “For Baby Cola.”