Of course, they were bright. Otherwise they could hardly have been for a Christmas tree. They were twelve in a box, and they ran in twos as to color—by this I mean that there were two blues, two reds, two greens, two silvery, two goldy, and two bright pink. The box was divided into little compartments, one for each ball, and lined with a peculiar, dirty cotton, common to Christmas ornament boxes, and the compartments were meant to keep the balls from knocking against each other and breaking. This it did, but it did not keep them from constantly squabbling, fighting and fussing, which, I am sorry to say, they did all the time.

They stood, or rather their box stood, on a big table with many other ornaments in Wanamaker's big store, and the never-ceasing crowd pushed backwards and forwards by them all the day. They were much admired by all, but no one bought them. It seemed that being rather a high order of ornament they were quite expensive, so they leaned against the edge of the shelf, and shone, glistened, fought and quarreled as to which was the prettier—until the others were tired of hearing them.

A large Santa Claus, resplendent in a red overcoat, stood on the top shelf in the center, trying to keep order, and around him a row of smaller and less magnificent Santa Claus' with black coats, trying to help, but he was not so expensive as the balls, so they paid no heed to him.

"Of course," said the goldy balls—they always spoke together,—"you may say what you like, but none of you shine as we do."

"We think we give a purer and less lurid light," remarked the silver.

"You may do that, but you don't light up as we do," said the red balls.

"And we;" "And we," shouted the others.

"A nice, fat baby just came by on his mother's arm and tried to take me out of the box," said the top pink ball, trembling with pleasure. "I hoped his mother would buy me."

"We are not for sale singly," said the other pink, a little hurt that the baby had not seen him, "besides he would have squeezed you, and broken you, then you might have cut his fingers."

"I shouldn't like to do that," said the first pink ball again, looking anxious. "I hope he won't come again, he might snatch me."

"Don't you worry, if he snatches at all, it will be at us," said the gold balls again.

"Or at us," shouted all the others.

"Ding, dong, peace, peace," rang a bell, which hung on a trimmed tree at the corner of the table, "how you quarrel! Santa Claus, can't you stop them?"

"No," said the old man, sadly, "they don't heed me, they are so noisy."

"Is this the one you mean?" a voice broke through the babble, and a hand took down the box. With one accord the gaily colored balls shivered, and each one closed his or her eyes, afraid to even breathe.

"Yes, thank you. See, Estelle, what pretty ones, and quite unusual," said another voice.

"Yes, ma'am," said the shop-girl, "we have only one of these, they are a little higher priced than what we usually carry."

The balls swelled with pride at this, and then being unable to restrain their curiosity any longer, they opened their eyes, and looked right up into the pale, pretty face of a little girl, who was gazing at them, but with a very small show of interest. Goldy decided she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. She wore a black velvet coat, with a wide fur collar, and a big hat with plumes, her fair hair was beautifully curled, and she looked very dainty in the rough crowd. Pinky sighed as he looked at her.

"I would rather be with my baby," she whispered, "that little girl looks discontented and unhappy."

They were already on the way to be wrapped up, before they quite took in what had happened. Even then they were so excited they forgot to quarrel.

"I expect we shall be on a very smart tree," said the green, "and they will take such care of us that we shall last years. I had a friend once who was on the family Christmas tree for five years, and he was not so nice as we are."

"Oh, they'll take care of us all right," said Silver. "Didn't you hear the lady say we were the prettiest she had seen yet, and so unusual?" And then they all bridled in their snug little compartments.

The night was spent they knew not just where, but in the vicinity of a Christmas tree and greens, for they could hear them whispering, and an occasional whiff of piney smell came under the lid of the box. The morning passed quietly too, their string was untied, and the box looked into by the same lady who had bought them, then they were left on the floor with a lot of other boxes and much general conversation took place. The balls felt rather strange and kept very still.

Suddenly there was a great commotion, the room became full of people, all talking at once, and there was hammering and rustling, as the tree was set in place, and the greens tacked on the walls. Then the lid was taken off the box, and the balls saw that they were in a large room, full of people. In the center a great tree stretched its branches, waiting to be trimmed; innumerable bundles tied with bright ribbons were piled around, and the walls were hung with greens and wreaths. Near the tree was "their lady," and it was the little girl who had opened the box. She looked more happy and interested now, and was even more gorgeous than ever, with a velvet frock and lace collar, a big bow on her yellow curls.

"This," said the gold balls, "is richness and luxury. Thank goodness, we were high priced, and came here to live."

The others all agreed, but the pink ball,—she had a little pang of regret when she thought of the fat baby with the bright, earnest little face, and the well-worn worsted hood tied under its fat, chapped chin.

Meanwhile the trimming of the tree progressed rapidly. A great many beautiful and costly things were hung on it, among others our friends, who were prouder than ever, and shone to the best of their ability. Goldy made the acquaintance of a beautiful paper doll, with feather wings and gold paper skirts, who floated on the branch next to him, by the aid of an elastic glued to her shoulder. She was very aristocratic and hard to know, but he glistened his best and swung to and fro with her, and was happy. The green balls hung near the top, and were next to a large scarlet ball that came straight from Germany, and only spoke that language; but the greens were very good natured, and as they spoke a little German, they got along famously.

When everything was ready, the people went to get dressed, and left the tree alone in all its grandeur, a big Santa Claus taking charge of the heap of toys piled at its base.

Once alone, the ornaments began to talk, amicably at first, but later, I regret to say, the quarrelling commenced. Goldy began it. He stated in no very agreeable tone that he was glad they were in a house befitting their station.

"Your station, indeed," said the big spike on the top, "why, you came from Wanamaker's!"

Absolute silence followed this remark, and the little balls turned cold with fright and shame. Was it then a disgrace to come from Wanamaker's? The red ball looked pale, and the green balls grew greener still.

"Wanamaker's is a large department store, is it not, where all sorts of things are sold?" asked a silver horse, who pranced on one of the upper branches.

"Yes," said its companion, a gold cow, who seemed out of place, hanging as it did head down from a lower branch. "They sell everything from a wardrobe to a rolling pin."

"They have a lovely toy department," spoke up a new voice; and looking towards the corner from whence it came they beheld a rather the worse for wear doll. "I have been there often with Estelle, and some of their things are very high priced."

("That," thought the balls, "is a lovely doll, we will do something for her if we can.")

"High priced," said the horse, "were you high priced?" turning a little to the red ball who hung near him.

"We were," answered all the balls in chorus, "that is why we had not been sold before."

"Toys," said a beautiful, soft voice, "toys, be quiet, do you know what we are celebrating?"

"Christmas," answered several softly.

"Do any of you know what Christmas means?"

A long silence followed, and all eyes turned upward to where the Christmas Angel hung from the ceiling by a broad ribbon tied around its waist. Its arms were outspread above the tree, and its dimpled hand seemed to be showering blessings on all. As no one answered, the Angel went on gravely:

"We are celebrating the birth of Christ. I am the image of the Angel who brought the news, and I come each year to each tree to remind all people that 'Unto you a Child is born,' and you all pain me by quarrelling over prices at such a time."

A sort of shamed silence settled on all the toys. The gold ball glanced at his lady love, but she was looking gravely down into the green below. Then Santa Claus gave himself a little shake.

"You have made us all feel solemn, when we want to be gay," he said. "Can't some one start a song?"

"I will," said the Angel, and he straightway began chanting, "'Twas the Night before Christmas," and they all joined in; and when it was finished all solemnity had disappeared, and wild gayety and good temper prevailed.

The evening was a great success. There were a great many people, and much light and laughter. The tree was praised, and our friends came in for their share of the admiration. When the guests had gone, Mrs. Miller called the maids to her.

"Undress the tree in the morning," she said. "Save the larger balls, the dolls, and the tinsel animals, and throw all the smaller things away. Good-night. Come, Estelle."

Consternation fell on the ornaments. The larger ones gave sighs of relief, and the smaller ones shudders of horror. The little balls glanced at one another and laughed nervously.

"She cannot mean us," they said, "we are so beautiful and expensive." And Pinky thought again of the baby.

"He would never have thrown us away," she murmured to herself.

The night passed in speculation and very little sleep; and when the first rays of light peeped in through the shades, one of the balls—a blue one—was discovered on the ground in pieces. He had thrown himself down rather than be thrown away.

The maids came early, and the work of undoing the tree began. Slowly the larger articles, including the tinsel animals, were removed and put away, until nothing remained but a few cheaper paper ornaments and the sad eleven balls, with their pride gone, and their souls humbled to the dust. For they were to be thrown out,—they, the pride of the Christmas tree table, and all their boasts were for nothing. The rich had bought them, and now the rich were throwing them away. The thought of the ash can made them shiver, and the gold ones hoped they would break in the act.

"I thought Christmas Day was different from other days," remarked a small, ragged boy to a larger, but equally ragged little girl, as they slipped and slid on the icy pavement on Christmas morning, in search of any odd bits that might be left in the ash cans that plentifully sprinkled the edge of the curb at this early hour.

"It is different, someway," answered the small girl, vaguely. "There's presents for some folks and trees, I think it's trees, for others."

"Trees? What for? I don't think a tree is much of a present," sniffed the little boy, contemptuously, "I'd rather have a drum."

"I don't mean a plain tree, Jimmy Tyler, I mean a tree all hung with things made out of shining stuff, and candles, and gold glass balls." Jimmy was struck dumb.

"Gold glass, O my! I ain't never seen gold glass," he gasped.

"No, neither have I," answered the sister, "but Billy's Mama says so."

That seemed to be convincing, and they both poked away at the contents of two large ash cans, until a scream from Jimmy caused Sadie to jump almost out of her worn little shoes.

"Look," he said, "is this one of them things?" In his hand he was holding the one remaining blue ball. He had a hole in one side, but he still had courage and tried bravely to shine, even though the dust had enveloped him. Sadie stood spellbound.

"It is one of them," she said. "Oh, who could have thrown it away?"

"Sadie," screamed Jimmy, "could we take it home and put it on a tree for Billy? We could borrow a candle."

"I'm afraid it would look bad all alone, Jimmy," she said sadly, "but," seeing the intense disappointment she had caused, "we can do it. First, let's hunt through the ashes some more. If they throw one away, there may be others."

The diligent search was rewarded beyond their wildest hope, for not only did the entire eleven appear, all very dusty and broken in spirit and thankful to be able to breathe once more, but also the remains of Goldy's lady love, one wing gone, and her golden skirts in ribbons, but still beautiful in the children's eyes.

While they were contemplating their treasures with joy beyond words, a man came out of the area way, dragging a tremendous Christmas tree after him, which he threw into the gutter and then proceeded to chop up. Sadie watched him silently for a minute, and then with her face pink with the effort, approached him timidly.

"Oh, sir, could you chop it so we could have the top?"

The man looked kindly at the two earnest faces, and at the toys in the little cold hands.

"Of course, I could," he said heartily, "how much of the top will you be wanting?"

"Oh, just a little piece," said Sadie. "We haven't very much to put on it."

"How will you carry it?" asked the man, when he had finished.

"On my sled," said Jimmy, exhibiting with pride a box on runners, made by himself.

"Wait a minute," said the man, after the balls had been carefully stowed away in the bottom on a soft bed of branches, and the tree placed on top. "I have something inside you will like," and going into the house, he reappeared with two bright cornucopias of candy, a nice red apple and an orange.

"Oh, thank you, thank you," cried the children. "What a Christmas Billy will have!"

"Who's Billy?" asked the man.

"He is the baby of our house, his mother rents the back room on the top floor. They're poor, too, and we love Billy."

"Sadie takes care of him in the daytime when his mother gets work, and she's a splendid nurse," said Jimmy with pride. Then with nods and smiles they started. The man watched them until they disappeared, and then with a half sigh returned to his chopping.

"I wish I had asked where they lived, I would like to have seen the tree and Billy," he thought, but it was too late, the ragged pair and the old sled with its cheery burden had gone around the corner.

And what of our friends, the balls, down in their nest of pine boughs? They were too happy to speak. The events of the night passed among ashes and bits of coal had told much on their delicate nerves, and the sudden change to the fragrant bed, with a prospect of another tree ahead of them was as cheering to them as it was to the children. All pride had gone, and there was left only a strong desire to make such a brave appearance that Billy's tree would be the best and brightest in the land, notwithstanding the fact that the ornaments were few.

And it was a bright little tree, set up in a starch box, with the balls hung where they showed to the best advantage, and the paper dolly tied fast to the top bough, where her tattered skirts were less noticeable, and no one minded or even thought that she had only one wing. The gold balls glistened as good as new when the dust was rubbed off, and when later the candle had burned out, the apple and the orange had been divided and eaten, and the festivities were over, the little pink ball rejoiced to find herself going to bed with the fat baby; then clasped tight in the hot little hand and nestling close to the pink cheek, she sent up a little prayer of thanks to the Christmas Angel, which was as near saying real prayers as a Christmas tree ornament ever comes.