One bright, warm, November day—for such days are the usual order in sunny California—Tabitha stood at the little window in one end of the long corridor, looking disconsolately down into the garden, shimmering in its rain-washed greenness, and thinking of the approaching holidays and her own slender purse. The other girls were making such elaborate gifts for each other, to say nothing of the beautiful things laid by for the home folks and friends, and she felt keenly the fact that she would have so little to offer. To be sure, there were few to remember outside the school circle of girls and teachers, but she longed as never before to do as the others did and have what they had.

"Oh, dear," she sighed, "it's hard to be pinched all the time! I wish I could have as much money to spend as even Mercedes has, and that isn't a great deal, either. Here I have only five dollars for Christmas, and there are about twenty girls, who, I know, are going to give me something, besides the other people I want to remember—Tom and the Vanes and Carrie's mother and father. They are always giving me something beautiful, and I never have anything for them but home-made candy. There is Aunt Maria, too. I would like to send her a little something so she won't think I have forgotten her; and then—Dad—but he won't expect anything or care. I don't suppose he will even remember that it is Christmas. Oh, hum! I wish there wasn't such a a day!"

"Such a day as what?" asked a soft, sweet voice behind her, and an arm crept gently, almost shyly around her waist.

"Oh, Madame DuBois!" cried the startled girl, looking up into the winning brown eyes of the little French teacher. "Did you hear what I said? I was wishing there was no Christmas Day."

"No Christmas Day!" echoed the scandalized woman with charming accent, "Ah, zat is ze Christ's birthday!"

"I was very wicked," murmured Tabitha, humbly. "I didn't stop to think how we happen to have that holiday. I was mourning because I have not as much to spend for pretty things as the other girls have."

"Oh, but zat is very wrong!" protested her companion, shaking her head in a disapproving fashion. "You Americans sink only of how much money you spend for Christmas and if your gift to your friend cost as much as ze one she give you. Zat isn't gift! Zat is exchange. One should give only from ze happiness of ze heart. If ze pocketbook is flat, zen pick a little flower, write a little letter, give a merry smile. All true friends like zat better zan silk dresses or gold watches. Do you forget one of your great poets has said:

"I see what you mean, Madame," said Tabitha slowly. "Folks think too much about the cost of their gifts, instead of the spirit in which they are given. But wouldn't you feel badly if you knew that fifteen or twenty girls were planning splendid things for you and there was only five dollars to buy remembrances for all of them, besides the other friends? Cassandra told me yesterday that Bertha Peck is embroidering a silk scarf for me, and here I haven't a thing for her!"

Madame smiled indulgently at the tragic tones, and gently shook the slender maid, as she answered, "Wie, I understand some how you feel, Tabitha; but it isn't worth fretting about. A little handkerchief, a card maybe—"

"One can't get a really nice handkerchief for even two bits, and it would take my whole five dollars for just the girls alone. I would have nothing left for Tom or the rest."

The little French woman was silent for a moment, and a deep frown wrinkled her usually placid brow; then she impulsively caught Tabitha's brown hands in her own and skipped joyfully as if she, too, were a girl in her teens, exclaiming excitedly, "I have it—zat what you say? You crochet. I have seen you sometimes when you study and I wonder how you count ze stitches and learn, too, but you always have your lessons well."

Tabitha's face flushed with pleasure at this unexpected praise, and she laughingly replied, "Oh, I can't always. It is just when I am memorizing something or learning French conjugations. Now with algebra, I have to use my hands as well as my brains."

"Sly-boots! But you make pretty sings with your crochet hook—ze lace on Carrie's collar, n'est pas?"

"Yes, I made that for her birthday. Mrs. Vane taught me how last year in Silver Bow so I wouldn't be so lonely."

"It takes only a little time?"

"Not very long now. I have made so much of it I can almost do it in my sleep, and I can pick up new patterns from magazines by myself."

"Good! I, too, crochet—many sings once. I show you how if you wish."

"Oh, thank you, Madame DuBois! I shall be glad to learn."

"It is six, seven weeks before Christmas Day, and in zat time lots can be done. Come now to my room and we plan out zat five dollars—if you like—spend it on paper." She hurried the amazed girl down the long hall to her cozy room and was soon deeply absorbed in making out lists and figuring the cost of material. "There are twenty-one girls I should like in particular to remember," said Tabitha, curiously watching every movement of her companion. "I wish I had something for each scholar. And five people in Silver Bow, and Tom in Reno, and—I wish Miss Pomeroy didn't limit us to such a little bit for the teachers."

"Ah, but she is wise!" laughed Madame, rapidly turning the pages in a fancy-work book. "See, here is what I mean. Twenty ties like zat take so little time and are so pretty and very acceptable. Every girl this day likes such sings. One spool of cotton thread, very fine, makes four or five, maybe more; a little scrap of linen to mount it on, and voila! a beautiful little gift that cost much at the store. Watch me now, how I do it." She caught up her crochet hook and thread, and deftly, swiftly, traced the delicate little pattern that Tabitha might see how it was done.

"That looks so easy," murmured the girl, watching the flying fingers with fascinated eyes. "I believe I could do it already."

"Yes? But you take the book to be sure. The directions are easy. That settles the girls except maybe the little friend, Carrie. How would she like some slippers? I make them very pretty and they cost so little; two or three skeins of yarn for one pair and the soles are cheap, too."

"That would be fine for Carrie—and for Chrystobel. Cassandra says she has something beautiful for me, but Chrystie threatened to give her nothing for Christmas if she told; so she has managed to keep it secret so far."

"Cassandra has a lively tongue," laughed Madame, "and she finds it hard to control. Now for the rest of your friends, how would calendars do? You make beautiful water-coloring. Miss White shows me her pretty work, and always zere is one of your drawings. Cardboard is easy to get; a little bunch of flowers or some ozer design in colors, maybe a picture of yourself, and zat makes a nice gift."

"I had thought of pictures at first, but good ones cost so much that I couldn't get enough to go around."

"Pictures? Photographs, you mean. But maybe some friend has a camera and will take a—what you call it?—snap-shot? I know such a boy. He does excellent work and I am sure Miss Pomeroy will let you go there some day with me. He charges very low. I sink one dollar would be all. Zen see! You have still one dollar and a half left out of your five dollars to buy ribbon, tissue paper, Christmas cards, postals or what you will, and all your friends are planned for."

Tabitha stared at the neat list with unbelieving eyes, then with a little jump of delight, she threw both arms around Madame's neck, crying happily, "Oh, you darling, you witch! I have been wondering and puzzling for a week to know how I could possibly get thirty-three presents out of five dollars, but it looks as easy as a, b, c, now. Thank you a thousand times! I am going to begin right away on my gifts, so everything will surely be finished in time."

"But you must attend to the lessons first," warned the teacher, shaking her finger playfully at the excited girl.

"Oh, I will, I surely will," she promised, gathering up book and papers. "I am so glad this is Saturday, for I can commence work at once. All my Monday's lessons are learned, Chrystobel and Cassandra have gone home for Sunday, and there is nothing to interfere." "Then mind you don't work too hard, or I shall be sorry I helped you stretch your little gold mine."

"I will be very careful, but I must hurry, for there are only seven weeks before Christmas."

With a parting smile she slipped out of the door and rushed away to her own room, eager to make with her own hands the pretty lace Madame had begun for her; and from that moment all her leisure time was devoted to crocheting ties or painting calendars for her loved ones' Christmas Day. With the first gleam of dawn she was up in the morning, busy with brush or hook long before the breakfast bell called them to the day's routine; at recess and during the noon hour, she was hidden away with Bertha or Carrie in some nook of the great gardens, making frantic use of every opportunity; and when the lessons were learned in the evening, back to back with Chrystobel, she toiled with patient fingers, sighing with relief as each dainty tie was laid in state beside its finished mates in her big hat box.

Madame's young friend was glad to take some kodak pictures of the eager girl, the prints were splendidly clear-cut, and Tabitha was delighted with the result. So when her busy brush had painted all the cardboard squares in soft colors, and the carefully trimmed snapshots were mounted, Tabitha's calendars were really works of art; and her heart was filled with happiness over what she had achieved.

Just a week before Christmas she slipped the last gift into the hat box and sat down before it to gloat over her treasures with loving eyes.

"All done—everything! I didn't suppose I could do it when I began. Now, I shan't be ashamed to receive gifts from the girls. It isn't right to feel that way, I know, but really I hated to think of not being able to give them something nice when they are so good to me. It isn't that I am exchanging, as Madame calls it; for I shall appreciate whatever gifts I get—silk dresses, Christmas cards, or just a friendly word; but this is the very first time I ever made things myself to give away at such a time, and I guess it has gone to my head. I like to receive presents, but I think it is lots more fun to give them. I have enjoyed making every single one of those.

"There are twenty-two ties, nineteen for the girls, and one each for Mrs. Vane, Carrie's mother and Aunt Maria; there's a silk tie for Rosslyn McKittrick—I never would have thought of using up that bias piece for such a thing if I hadn't seen Jessie making her little brother one. I don't know which I like best, Carrie's blue slippers or Chrystobel's pink ones—they are both so dear. But my calendars are my darlings! When Madame suggested them, I was afraid they would be awfully cheap-looking, but Miss White says the coloring is the best I ever did, and those splendid pictures just finish them. I had no idea I was so good-looking. There is one apiece for each teacher, one for Tom, one for Dr. Vane, and one for Mr. Carson. That leaves me three over; and there may be someone I have forgotten in my list, so these will probably come in handy yet. And that prying Cassandra hasn't found out about a thing that I have made!

"Now I must get my hat and coat if I go with Madame for the tissue paper. How glad I am that I can get a pretty postcard for each of the other girls! Even then, I will have more than half a dollar left. Perhaps I can find a piece of linen and make Tom a handkerchief or two. I'll ask—"

"Puss, Puss!" called an excited voice in the corridor, and an impatient fist pounded loudly on the door. Tabitha started nervously, dropped the cover down over her treasures and pushed the box hurriedly into the closet, calling cheerily, "Come in, Carrie!"

"I can't; you have locked the door!"

The black-eyed girl flew to turn the key, and rosy, excited Carrie burst into the room, crying, "See what I got for papa! It just came from the store. Miss Pomeroy helped me choose it. I wanted to show it to you first. Isn't it splendid? And won't he like it?" She laid a beautifully carved box on the table and danced gleefully about the room while Tabitha examined the purchase.

"Well, I should think he would," she said enthusiastically in answer to Carrie's question. "What is it for?"

"It's a sort of a writing-desk for him to carry around in his grip when he goes away, so he can write any time he wants to. See the paper, business size, letter and note paper. Here is a box for stamps, and there is a place for pen and pencils. I wanted to get him a fountain pen, too, but mamma said she would attend to that, to be sure it was a nice one. I can just see him now when he opens it. Oh, I wish Christmas would hurry! What are you going to give your father, Puss?"

Tabitha's face flushed scarlet, and she murmured in embarrassment, "I don't believe he cares anything about Christmas. He never has observed it since I can remember."

"Oh!" said Carrie. "Well, I must take my box back and wrap it up. Where are you going?"

"It is nearly time for our walk and Miss Pomeroy has promised some of us a tramp to town for tissue paper, ribbon, cards and such little things that won't take long to get. Didn't you know? Ask her if you can't go. I think there are only six or seven of us so far. One more will only make it the jollier."

"I would like to," answered Carrie wistfully, "but this is my hour to practice for the cantata. Bye-bye!" Carrie whisked across the hall to her room and Tabitha, haunted by that careless question, descended the stairs to wait for the group of shoppers to gather.

The day was bright and warm, the winter rains had washed the dusty foliage clean, and it seemed as if spring had already begun in this California city; but there was no answering note of joy in Tabitha's heart. Why had Carrie shown her the pretty writing-desk? What had prompted her to speak such disquieting words? Ought she to send something to the stern father who did not care?

"One should give only from ze happiness of ze heart, Madeline."

Madame's gentle voice floated back to Tabitha, speaking the same sentiment she had voiced to the black-haired girl a few weeks before. "A gift from a sense of duty is no gift at all."

"Then," thought Tabitha, "that settles my difficulty. I could give only from a sense of duty. I should like to love him, but he won't let me."

"But sink how lonely he may be, ze cross old uncle you talk about! Doesn't it make you sorry?" came another snatch of conversation. "Perhaps he loves you more zan you sink. Oh, yes, I should get him somesing—a calendar or a card or maybe write a letter; but don't do it because you sink you ought. If he feels zat you really want to cheer him, it will make him happy even if he is cross."

The sunshine grew suddenly brighter to Tabitha, her heart grew wonderfully lighter, her lips unconsciously hummed a little tune and the walk the rest of the way to town was beautiful. But the first thing she did when Ivy Hall was reached, was to run up to her room, select the prettiest of the three left-over calendars, wrap it daintily in tissue paper and gold cord and address it to her father at Silver Bow. Then with a happy sigh she dropped it back into the box to await the proper time for mailing, and skipped off to tell Madame that her Christmas work was all done.

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