Christmas Day dawned bright and clear and with the first peep of dawn Tabitha was out of bed, shaking Chrystobel vigorously and calling, "Merry Christmas, lazybones! Wake up; it's day! The rising bell has rung. Didn't you hear it?"

"Oh, you are dreaming," drowsily murmured the weary girl in the other bed. "This is vacation time."

"But we have to get up just the same," laughed Tabitha. "I am going to wake Carrie and the others."

She bounced across the room, flung open the door and stopped abruptly, for suspended to the transom above her head hung two immense tarlatan stockings, stuffed to the very brim with bundles of all sorts and sizes. Across the hall from Carrie's transom swung two more similar socks, and dangling against Bertha's door was a third set. Tabitha's wild shriek of surprise and delight brought the other five girls standing in their beds, and Carrie chattered anxiously, "Oh, what is the matter? Is the building on fire?"

"No, indeed. Merry Christmas!" shouted the black-eyed girl, tugging at the stocking marked with her name. "Open the door and see what you find. Santa Claus surely has been here while we slept."

There was the sound of pattering feet in the three rooms, and Chrystobel, now thoroughly awake, reached Tabitha's side just as the door across the hall and the one next to theirs burst open and four excited girls tumbled out. "Oh-h-h!" came a chorus of long-drawn-out, rapturous sighs, as five pair of eager arms clasped the bulky socks and jerked them loose.

"Ow!" shrieked Grace. "There is something awfully hard in mine. It nearly knocked a hole in my head. It's a handkerchief box, as sure as I am alive! Isn't it a dear? That is from Esther. Well, Kitty, what are you doing down there?"

Tabitha, in nightgown and slippers, sat in the middle of the floor, her huge stocking up-side down in her lap, and gifts scattered all about her, as with shining eyes and trembling hands she unwrapped each package in turn and gloated over its contents.

"A bunch of violets from Miss Pomeroy—she never forgets one of us. There is Bertha's scarf that Cassandra tattled about—thank you, Bertha! You must have worked like a Trojan on that. I never could embroider silk. Here is a lovely handkerchief from Edith, a book from June, a calendar from Estelle, a—a silk waist from Carrie! You darling! Look at this lovely photo of Jessie and Julia, and isn't the frame cute! A book of poems from Cassandra—she said her gift ought to make me the happiest of all because it would give me something new to recite—queer little, dear little midget! A set of Shakespeare from the Leonard twins, a bonbon dish from Vera. Here is a kiss in return. An apron from Grace, three ties, a pair of gloves, chocolates, handkerchiefs,—oh, did ever anyone see so many pretty things belonging to one person! I am perfectly crazy with happiness. Here is one weenty package more in the very tiptoe of my stocking—from Chrystobel—a ring with a real ruby in it. If there were another thing to open, I should be bawling in earnest. That is the first ring I ever owned, girls—"

"Oh, there goes the first bell for breakfast," interrupted Bertha, whisking up her stocking full of packages. "Ten minutes to dress in! Run, scuttle, hustle! We mustn't be late

She vanished abruptly, humming the beautiful carol; and three of her companions, following her example, swept up their numerous packages and flew away to dress.

Oh, that was a merry Christmas indeed for Tabitha! So bewildered, so delighted, so happy was she, that teachers and scholars were kept in a perfect gale of laughter during the breakfast hour, for the spirit of the day was upon her, the love of her new friends, manifested even in this material way, had touched her more deeply than anyone could guess, and the effervescent gladness in her heart had to bubble over. So they lingered long over the breakfast table, loath to bring to a close such a happy hour; but at length Miss Pomeroy rose, and smiling down into the expectant fares of her six holiday charges, she said,

"I think the first thing on our morning's program is a long walk, say to the park, and back. It is such a glorious day we mustn't waste a moment of it, and we have all laughed so much we certainly need some exercise. Miss Summers looks positively worn out with mirth. By the time we get back, the postman and expressman may have visited us again, and I am sure the minutes will pass more quickly for each of us impatient children if we are busy doing something. My box from home isn't here yet, and I am as eager as you are to see what my nieces and nephews have sent me."

"A walk is just what I need to work off my surplus energy," declared Tabitha enthusiastically. "May we take some crackers to feed the swans?"

"And oh, may I take my kodak, my spandy new Christmas kodak, for some pictures?" asked Grace eagerly. "I will snap you the very first one if you will say yes."

"That is quite an inducement," laughed Miss Pomeroy. "Of course you may take all the crackers you wish and as many kodaks as you possess."

So thus armed, a merry eight left Ivy Hall a few moments later and tramped gayly away to the park. Upon their return, as the principal had predicted, they found the reception hall table loaded down with letters and parcels from the mail, while several express packages lay piled in a heap on the floor.

"Oh, Miss Pomeroy," shouted Carrie, reaching the bundles first and eagerly scanning the addresses. "Here is yours all right, and it is heavy as lead. This one is addressed to Grace; here is mine from Grandma; that is for Bertha; the big box is Pussy's, and so is this little fellow, and the other box is addressed to you and me together from papa. Here's a heap of letters. You can distribute them, Vera; I am too excited. Where is the hammer?"

"Not so fast, not so fast!" laughed Miss Pomeroy. "John will open these boxes and carry them up to your rooms where you can unpack them all by yourselves. Take your mail and scamper!" She shooed the capering girls up the wide stairway, where they were followed very shortly by the smiling John, bearing their new cargo of gifts.

"Oh, John, hurry, hurry!" coaxed Carrie, skipping about in a fever of impatience. "I can't wait. Who is yours from, Puss? Tom?" "No; it isn't his writing, anyway. There is a little package from him and a letter—but—the big box is—from Reno, too."

"Why don't you open it and see who sent it?" asked Chrystobel, busy herself with a big home box.

"I will as soon as I investigate the things Mrs. Vane sent me. Aren't they pretty? A glove box with two pair of gloves in it. The hair-ribbons are from Mrs. McKittrick; but this package, I can't make out where it came from, either. It's a kodak! Grace, a kodak like yours!"

"You will need a detective," said Grace, dropping her own treasures to examine the mysterious packages of her companion. "What does the tag say?"

"Just, 'A brand from the burning'. Isn't that queer?"

Carrie paused in her excited unpacking of goodies from home, studied the little card for a moment and then said, "What will you bet that isn't from the hermit?"

"Why didn't I think of that before?" murmured Tabitha, dropping back on the floor, suddenly lost in thought. "Well, Kitty, if you aren't the craziest!" exclaimed Vera at length. "Here you sit mooning over that camera when you haven't opened your brother's packages, or that big box I am dying to see, or even looked at the things Carrie has dumped into your lap from her folks."

Tabitha roused with a start and immediately tore off the coverings of the second mysterious box, saying with a smile, "I am keeping the best for dessert. I like to guess at what is inside each parcel before I open it. Oh, what a pretty hat!"

"Isn't it a darling! And look at that pretty dress goods! That is all the rage now."

"Chrystie, see Kitty's new shoes. Aren't they fine?"

"A whole outfit," murmured Grace, half enviously.

"Yes, and here is an envelope, Puss," added Carrie. "That ought to tell who sent it."

Tabitha mechanically broke the seal of the envelope bearing her name in the same writing as that on the outside of the box, and a twenty dollar bill dropped into her lap. "That is all there is in it," she said, shaking the paper again. "No, it isn't. Here is a little scrap which reads, 'For dressmaker's bills'. Now isn't that provoking!"

"Provoking!" echoed Chrystobel. "I should call it luck!"

"Oh, I didn't mean the money and things. Those are splendid. But isn't it a shame not to know where they came from?"

"Why, didn't your brother send them?" asked Bertha in surprise, for she had been so deeply engrossed with her own gifts that only snatches of her companions' conversation had reached her.

"No, that isn't a bit like his writing, you see; and besides, he couldn't afford such things."

"Maybe Tom's letter tells," Carrie ventured. "Why don't you read it and see?"

"I had forgotten," laughed Tabitha, looking foolish, and hastily tearing open the letter in her lap. Then the rosy color in her cheeks paled, her eyes grew big with amazement, and her breath came in quick gasps. "Dad sent them," was all she said, and as if doubting the truth of her own statement, she read again the last paragraph of the busy brother's brief note:

"This is a poor apology for a letter, Puss, but if I get it off in this next mail I haven't time for anything lengthy. I suppose by this time you have received the book I mailed you yesterday, and I hope the big surprise arrives in season to help you enjoy Christmas Day. What do you think! Dad stopped at Reno on his way back from another trip East, and he called on me to go shopping with him this morning. He himself selected the dress, but deferred to my notions in regard to the other frills, so if they don't suit, blame me. I noticed that most of the girls in Reno were wearing those fuzzy hats, so at my suggestion Dad got one to match your dress. I thought you would prefer a brown suit, but he wanted blue, and blue it is. I showed him around town and took him through the college buildings, and when he was gone I found fifty dollars in greenbacks on my dresser—my Christmas gift from him."

Tabitha slowly folded the paper, dropped it down into the box with its precious gifts, and lifting her shining eyes to the faces of her curious mates, she whispered softly, "I think I am perfectly happy!"

"And so are we," cried Chrystobel impulsively. "This has been the loveliest Christmas vacation I can remember. I wouldn't have missed staying here for anything."

"Nor I!" echoed Grace and Vera in the same breath, while Carrie and Bertha smiled their happiness.

Then came the grand dinner, and after that the games. They danced, they sang, they played everything they could think of, they messed in the kitchen, bribing the cook to surrender her domains to them for a candy pull, they inveigled the stately principal and shy Miss Summers into their romps, and how they did enjoy every minute of the gala day! But like all other days, it came to an end at last, and as the laughing group of weary merrymakers climbed the wide stairway at the bedtime hour, Carrie, who had lingered a moment behind the others in the hall below, bounded up the steps, calling excitedly, "Oh, girls, Miss Pomeroy says we don't have to sleep in our own rooms tonight, but can pair off any way we want to, and sleep wherever we choose. Isn't that great fun? Whom will you take, Puss?"

Tabitha stopped abruptly on the stairs. "Oh, I can have Carrie all to myself tonight," she thought to herself, but as she opened her lips to speak, she saw Chrystobel's eyes fixed wistfully upon her own, and suddenly there rose before her a vision of her room-mate's self-sacrifice in electing to spend the holidays at school when she knew what pleasures would have been hers at her own beautiful home. She hesitated, looked at Carrie's eager face, read the longing in Bertha's eyes, saw its reflection in Grace and Vera, and answered, "I choose all of you. What are you going to do about it?"

"Draw lots, you dear little Christmas queen!" cried Bertha promptly. "You are the most popular girl in school, Kitty Catt. Just see how we fight over you! Here are some slips of paper from our guessing game. Take your turn. The two longest, the two middle and the two shortest are mates."

There on the stairs they drew their fate—Tabitha and Chrystobel, Grace and Bertha, Carrie and Vera. Then with a merry laugh over the result, they linked arms and marched up to bed, with one exception a little disappointed, perhaps, but happy nevertheless.

The lights went out, five pair of sleepy eyes closed in slumber, the great city grew still, but Tabitha lay awake in her narrow bed looking up into the star-lit sky with bright, sparkling, happy eyes which held no trace of sorrow or longing, as she whispered reverently:

She thought of all the joys the day had brought her, such unexpected pleasures that it seemed as if her heart would burst with gladness; she thought of the girls who had done so much to give her this beautiful holiday; she thought of the scene on the stairs, and of Bertha's words, which, without a particle of conceit, she felt were the truth; she thought of Tom away at college, and wondered if his holiday had been as delightful as hers; she thought of the friends at Silver Bow, of Aunt Maria in the East, of the stern father keeping lonely vigil on the desert, and here her thoughts lingered. Had he received the calendar she sent him, and was he glad? What had prompted him to buy her the lovely gifts the express box had contained? Was he, after all, growing to be like jolly Mr. Carson? His remembrance had been the crowning touch of the day. How could she ever thank him? An idea suddenly popped into her mind as if in answer to her question, but she frowned at it, shook her head, protested that she could never do such a thing, and then—she did it.

Creeping carefully, noiselessly out of bed, she threw a kimono over her nightgown, turned on the electric light, drew out writing materials and began her first letter to the father whom she did not know or understand.

"Dear Father," she wrote, "I take my pen in hand to try to express in a feeble measure my deep and sincere gratitude for the many beautiful gifts you have sent me—

"Oh, rats!" The pen stopped its deliberate movements, the paper was roughly crumpled and flung into the waste basket. "That would make him sick with disgust. What in the world shall I say?

"Dear Father,—The Christmas box arrived this morning and its contents are greatly appreciated, I can assure you. How am I ever to thank you enough!— "Certainly not by such a stilted scribble as that. Sounds as if I might be addressing the president of the Associated Charities. Oh, dear, it is such a piece of work to write to one's father! Carrie never has half the fuss; but then I don't suppose I would either if Dad was like Mr. Carson—or Tom. That's it. I will just pretend I am writing to Tom; I can say anything to him. Here goes!

"Dear Dad,—The things arrived this morning, and they are—

"Shall I say 'bully'? Tom would, but that is a boy's word, and it is slang besides. Miss Pomeroy says a lady doesn't use slang. I will use 'great'. No, that isn't much better. Well, 'splendid' will do."

The busy pen went on scratching until the page was filled, then a second, a third, and still she had not finished. The clock struck midnight, then one; and with a flourish, Tabitha wrote at the bottom of the tenth closely scribbled page, "With love, Tabitha," sighed with weary satisfaction, folded the sheets neatly, and slipped them into an envelope just as Chrystobel's eyes opened and the surprised girl inquired sleepily, "Whatever are you doing, Kitty, up at this time of night?" "Writing a letter."

"Couldn't you wait until morning?"

"No, dear, I have waited too long already," answered Tabitha, turning out the light and scrambling back into bed. "I had to tell him how good everyone is to me, and how good he is, too."

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