Mary Elizabeth looked up from the soldier scarf she was learning to knit. Her mother, in the rocker beside Mary Elizabeth’s hassock, caught a bit of anxious thought that rested between Mary Elizabeth’s brown eyes. “What is it?” she asked, putting her hand down upon Mary Elizabeth’s to stop the knitting needles.

“I was thinking,” Mary Elizabeth sighed, “just thinking, Mother. It’s going to be a very soldierly Christmas this year, isn’t it? But the children—they don’t realize it and they’re thinking and talking about Santa Claus. Are we going to have the tree this year?”

Mary Elizabeth’s mother patted Mary Elizabeth’s hand softly. “We’ve always had one, haven’t we, daughter?” she said. “Can you remember the time when we did not have one?”

“No,” laughed Mary Elizabeth. “I suppose it was when I was too small a baby ever to have a tree or so little that I didn’t know what the lights were and thought I would like to play with their sparkles—but I do remember the tree we had when I was a little bit older. It was before any of the children came. I was about three years old, I think. You told me that the tree was made in honor of the little Christ Child’s birthday and I always thought you meant a little child like myself and expected to see him—”

Mary Elizabeth paused. “Then I grew bigger, and by and by there were all the children and the baby, and I was the oldest and we all thought that a funny friend who was a jolly old man called Santa Claus brought us the toys we found in our stockings. We thought all the play was real—about his coming down the chimney and about his sleigh with the eight reindeer. It used to seem strange that so big a man as Santa Claus could squeeze down our chimney and by and by I suspected it was all a play and you told me that it was just a funny, jolly way to make the very little children enjoy the fun of Christmas surprises. You told me then that I might help toward Christmas myself by trimming the tree. That was to be my part: each year I was to do it all myself and every year I tried to make it some new and lovely kind of a surprise. I always have loved to fix the tree. I always have felt that it must be the kind of a tree that the little Christ Child would love if he came in the way that I used to think you meant when I was still little.”

“Your tree has always been a beautiful tree, Mary Elizabeth,” Mother smiled. “It has always been a tree that shone with happiness. Each year we have loved it so that the children could not bear to part with it at New Years, you know.”

Mary Elizabeth smiled. But her question still remained unanswered. “Will there be a tree this year?” she asked. “I’m afraid the children would be sad without it, Mother.”

“I, too, have been thinking, Mary Elizabeth,” said Mother. “It is indeed a soldierly Christmas. What do you think we had better do?”“Well,” answered Mary Elizabeth, thoughtfully. “We have the ornaments, though I usually buy some new ones. I would have to get candles. The tree would not cost so very much, only it seems as if every penny ought to go to the little French and Belgian children—and there are the soldiers to send things to—and when everything is the way it is, why it really hardly seems like Christmas!”

“I know,” returned Mother. “But we sent all the money in the children’s bank and all your money and my money, Mary Elizabeth. We have the soldiers’ things all done—almost. I think we ought to have the tree for the children and you can fix it up somehow, can’t you?”

“Yes,” smiled Mary Elizabeth, but she was thinking that she must somehow find a way to make that tree as pretty as usual—even without any money to buy things!

That day and the next, Mary Elizabeth pondered the question. She thought of this and of that but nothing seemed quite right. There was no way to earn any money. And the tree had no star for the top. It had been lost, somehow. It was not with the tree fixings in the box in the attic! How to get a new star, that was one question. How to get the candles was another. And Mary Elizabeth’s tree had always been a tree that people came in to look at and admire. It was not like any other tree. It was always a surprise, somehow. Money was needed to buy things to make it wonderful. Money was needed to make it a bright surprise as usual!

At school, Mary Elizabeth found herself puzzling over this problem as vacation time drew near. It was harder for her than any arithmetic problem, for it could not be solved at all. Twice she saved five cents by walking home and that bought candles. But the problem remained as usual. It was how to get more money.

Then there came the day when the magazine came. It was always something of an event when the magazine came. It had new pictures in it and often it had cut-out pages for the little children. Once there had been a circus with clowns to cut out and ever since that time, Brother somehow got hold of the paper as soon as Mother took it from its wrapper. He was always hoping for more circus, you know. He knew its pages by heart and spelled out the titles and headings of the pictures. When Mary Elizabeth came home one day, he announced that the magazine had come.

“What’s in it?” questioned Mary Elizabeth.

“Pictures,” Brother replied mysteriously, “but not any of a circus. It’s a puzzle page. You have to guess what the pictures are and they’ll give a prize of five dollars to the one who answers and tells what the pictures are.” But Brother was still busy with the magazine and Mary Elizabeth was called away to help Mother with the little sister. She did not see the page, though she thought about it and wondered if she could answer all the questions and get the money that way to trim the Christmas tree. In the evening, after supper, after the little children had gone off to bed and Brother, too, with them, she found the magazine and looked it over. Yes, it was a contest. And the pictures were Mother Goose. It seemed easy to guess them—Mary Elizabeth guessed Simple Simon right away. It was the picture of a funny doll fishing in a little pail with a hook and line. She tried the others. She was not so sure of all but she guessed them with the help of the little children’s Mother Goose to refresh her memory. She was so excited that she felt the prize was already hers. She was sure she must win!

Just think of it: the first prize was five whole dollars and the second prize was two whole dollars and there were eight other prizes each of one whole big dollar—ten chances that Mary Elizabeth might earn some money for her Christmas tree! Her hands shook as she took up pen and put it to paper. She used her very best paper and three times or more she discarded what she had written and tried to do better. She wrote with extreme pains and slowly. It took all the evening just to write the short answer. She put it into its envelope to mail on the way to school next day, but she said nothing about it as she kissed Mother good-night.

Nearer and nearer came Christmas time. The little children talked more than ever about Santa Claus. Brother planned what kind of a stocking he would hang up. They talked about the tree and asked Mary Elizabeth what she supposed Santa Claus would make as a tree surprise this year. At these times, laughingly, Mary Elizabeth suggested that there would be candles on the tree and that perhaps there would be tinsel. She said that, maybe, Santa Claus would send all his Christmas to the little French and Belgian children and not have much to make into a surprise here at home. She told them stories about Santa Claus and the Santa Claus Land. She played with them to keep them amused but she thought all the time of the Mother Goose Contest and as time went on, she felt less sure each day of having won. Once she passed by the ten cent store and found a beautiful gold star and wanted to buy it. Then one day Mary Elizabeth actually found a ten cent piece near a shop upon a busy sidewalk in town. Her heart went thump at the sight of it. She asked several persons if they had lost anything and they replied, “No.” So Mary Elizabeth went straight to the ten cent store and bought a star, right away.

All this time, Mary Elizabeth watched anxiously for the postman. The time set for the close of the contest came and passed. No letter was brought to Mary Elizabeth. She knew that she would have had a letter if she had won any prize, of course. But Mary Elizabeth, with her heart heavy as lead, wondered whether she had really ever believed she would win. She admitted that she had. She was sure her work was right—that is, all answers were correct. The writing was neat. There were no blots. She had done her very best.

Mary Elizabeth was too soldierly to cry. She told nobody. She set about planning how she would cut paper ornaments out of colored wall papers and paste them together. She would make some paper dolls and dress them like fairies with the tissue paper she had. She would make wings with tissue paper, too. She would ask Mother to let her make some gingerbread animals and men to use on the tree. She would gild some nuts and pinecones maybe. There was the star. There was the box of candles. Those were something! But if only she did have money, she would trim her tree with the emblems of all the Allies and have a really soldierly Christmas tree!

Mary Elizabeth went into her room and locked her door tight. She took the key of her lower bureau drawer and sat down upon the floor beside it and drew it out. In it lay all the Christmas tree things with the box of candles and the star. As she looked at the bright Christmas things, a tear dropped upon her lap—oh, it might have been so different!

Why is it that when one is just in the midst of Christmas planning somebody comes to the door and knocks? Did you ever spread all your things out on a bed or a table or on the floor and fail to have somebody come to knock at your door and demand to be let in right away? There came a knock at Mary Elizabeth’s—but first, the latch had been tried. “Let me in, Mary Elizabeth!” cried Brother.

“I can’t,” returned Mary Elizabeth.

“You can.”

Thump-thumpety-thump.

“Go ’way,” admonished Mary Elizabeth. “I shan’t let you in! You can’t come in.”

“Well, you’ll be sorry,” said the muffled voice of Brother. “You’ll be sorry,” but he left off knocking at the door and ran away. Mary Elizabeth wondered if perhaps he suspected about the play of Santa Claus. He was getting to be quite big. Maybe he knew about the tree. Maybe he would have to be let into the fun of Christmas planning next year—but was it fun? Wasn’t it dreadful to worry about the tree and plan how to make it all new? No, it was not worry! No, it was not! Mary Elizabeth denied this stoutly. It was part of the self-sacrifice of Christmas to think about it as she had—and there would be a lovely tree! Yes, there would, somehow; she’d manage to make a grand surprise of it. Oh, yes, she would. Mary Elizabeth smiled and was ashamed of that little hot tear. She put the Christmas tree things back into the drawer one by one and she closed and locked the drawer. Then she went to the window and looked out across the snow. She thought maybe some cotton would look pretty and snowy on the tree like that. She heard Brother at the door again but she wasn’t quite ready to let him in. She wanted to be alone and think. She did not want to tell stories about Santa Claus.

His little voice came plaintively, “Please, Mary Elizabeth, let me in. I’ll tell you something nice, if you’ll let me in.” But Mary Elizabeth was not ready to hear what Brother thought Santa Claus was going to bring. She did not go to the door. Then she heard his soft little footsteps trot away down the hall and she felt sorry. She opened the door to run after him and there, where Brother had left it, there lay a big square envelope with the name of the magazine upon it!

Mary Elizabeth gasped. She tore it open and read:

Dear Mary Elizabeth:

Your good work has merited the reward of the Second Prize of two dollars offered in the Mother Goose Contest. The money is enclosed and we hope that it will bring with it a Very Happy Christmas!

Happy Christmas! Hooray! Oh, how fine! Happy Christmas—why, of course, Happy Christmas! Wasn’t it splendid! Wasn’t it a surprise! Waving the letter, she hugged everybody that she met, Brother, Mother and all the children. Something splendid had happened, they all agreed. Everybody congratulated Mary Elizabeth. But only Mother really guessed why Mary Elizabeth didn’t spend it all right then and there the very first day in buying candy and peanuts. That was what Brother and the little children suggested.

But next day, after vacation had really begun and when the little children and Brother were safely out of the way, Mary Elizabeth with her little red kid purse slipped out of the house and off to buy the flags of the Allies to use for the Christmas tree.

Mary Elizabeth had decided, too, what the Christmas surprise was to be. Yes, it should be a tree covered with flags and Old Glory should be with the star at the top!

And then came tree-trimming! And the tree was—oh, oh, it was ever so much more wonderful than any tree had ever been before. Everybody said so! The little children said so. Brother said so! Mary Elizabeth herself knew it was so! All the little poor children who came to the tree said so!

It was Mother, however, who knew about the very soldierly Santa Claus that had made the tree so lovely. “It honored the little Christ Child’s Birthday, dear,” she said as she kissed Mary Elizabeth good-night. “It is the tree of the soldiers who are fighting for all that Christmas means.”

“The star was there,” replied Mary Elizabeth.