THERE had been the usual Christmas-tree, which the cousins from three homes had gathered to enjoy. There had not been a Christmas since the oldest of them could remember—and he was sixteen—that the cousins had not been together in one of the homes, and had a frolic around the Christmas-tree. It was always hung with bright-colored balls, and strings of popcorn, and all the bright and pretty and useless things which people from year to year have contrived for such trees. It always had clustered about it the various sorts of fruits which refused, because of their weight, to be hung upon the branches—dolls, and kites, and wagons, and swords, and books and baskets. Every year the fruit grew stranger in some respects, with a dreary sameness in others, which was actually beginning to weary the hearts of the cousins.

The first excitement was over. The fathers and mothers and maiden aunts, together with three grandmothers and two grandfathers, had retired to quieter parts of the house, and the young people were left to their enjoyment. It was not very noisy in the room, nor were most of the cousins absorbed in their gifts; in fact their faces were already sobering. Little Nell was still happy over her new building-blocks, and Dell, her other self, was trying to advise her concerning them, while Harold tried his new paints and brushes on the chair he occupied, his guardian sister leaning over the back of the chair, so absorbed the while in her own grave thoughts that she did not even notice the mischief he was doing.

“It is all over once more,” said Holly. He was the sixteen-year-old cousin, and he thrust his hands in his pockets, and said it with a yawn.

“Some of it is a good deal of a bore,” answered Tom, the cousin next in age, echoing the yawn. “I didn’t get the first thing I expected or wanted.”

“Neither did I; but then I don’t know what I wanted, I am sure, unless it was a bicycle, and you can’t put that on a Christmas-tree very well.”

“Why not, as well as the trumpery which is put on?” asked Tom contemptuously. “I tell you the whole thing is getting to be a bore. Even the small fry don’t care for it half so much as they think they do; there’s Nannie sulking this minute because her dollie, which she has deserted, is not so nice according to her notion as Lily’s is. And Ted has turned his back on the whole of it because he didn’t get a drum. This crowd needs something new.”

“I don’t know what it would be; we have had everything imaginable, and if the simple truth were told need presents less than any young folks in the kingdom, I do suppose. My father says there is nothing new to get for pampered young people like us; and I don’t know but he is about right.”

“There’s a whole lot of money spent about it every year, though.” This was from Hortense, the oldest of the girl cousins, and a sort of adviser of the two older boys.

“I know it,” said Holly; “and a good deal of it is wasted. Nannie, for instance, did not need another doll any more than the cat needs two tails, and as for me I have seven jack-knives now.”

At that moment Helen turned away from the paint brush which she had not noticed, and joined in the conversation.

“Isn’t it funny? I have five new balls, and I don’t care for any of them. They keep giving us the same things over and over.”

“They forget,” said Holly; “and there is nothing new for them to get us, anyhow.”

“I know something that would be new.” It was Hortense again, speaking with grave thoughtfulness. The boys turned and looked at her inquiringly. “Don’t you know what Mr. Briggs told about the children out in the Colorado mountains, who never had a Christmas present in their lives, and didn’t know anything about such times as we have? I was thinking what if we could make up a box and put into it all the dollies, and balls, and jack-knives, and things that we don’t want, and some books, and perhaps a little candy, and send it out there, wouldn’t it be nice?”

“Too late for this year,” said Tom promptly.

“Why, no, it isn’t; if we hadn’t had any Christmas at all, ever, we would be willing to have one come to us in January.”

The boys laughed, and Holly said heartily, “That’s so.” And Hortense began to tell a story that she had heard Mr. Briggs tell to her uncle, and the younger ones gathered about her, leaving dolls and paints, and the interest grew.

It was the very next day that Hortense and Tom and Holly went to Dr. Parsons’ house to see Mr. Briggs.

“Why, yes,” he said, looking perfectly delighted with them, when Holly explained; “let me tell you about a brave little chap out there, only eleven years old; his father was guide to the tourists who wanted to climb the dangerous and difficult mountains, and lost his life from exposure, hunting a party of men who had strayed away. Little Teddy is as brave as a soldier. He is a guide himself, though so young, and getting to be one of the surest and safest to be found in that region, only he is so young and small yet, that strangers are afraid to trust him. A dreary life Teddy leads; he and his mother live all alone in a little house at the foot of a mountain. The boy has only the clothes which his father left, made over for him the best way his mother can. He never had anything that fitted him; and he never had any playthings in his life, only what he picked up; as for knives, or balls, or any of the things which boys like him enjoy, I don’t know what he would think if one should happen to come to him. You needn’t suppose that he hasn’t heard all about Christmas; his mother used to live in a farmhouse in New York State, and the stories she has told have almost driven him wild. A few rods away from their cottage lives a family with five children—three little girls, and a four-year-old boy and a baby. I happen to know that Teddy set his heart this year on having some sort of a Christmas present for every one of those children—and failed! I did not mean that he should, but I was sick at just the wrong time after I reached home, and my plans did not work. I heard from there only last night, and poor Teddy’s plans did not work, either.”

Holly had his note book and pencil in hand. “Will you give us his full name and address?” he said.

Such a time as the cousins had packing that box! Every baby of them contributed, not only the toys which they did not want, but a few that they loved, and parted from with sighs. The same may be said of the elder cousins, especially when it came to books; Holly was a miser where these were concerned, and Hortense knew how to sympathize with him. It took these two several hours to be willing to pack in that box some of their handsomely bound volumes, written by favorite authors.

But they had to go; for Mr. Briggs, among other things, had said, “I never saw a boy so hungry for reading in my life as Teddy; and he has only scraps of old newspapers, which he has picked up from time to time among the tourists.”

And more than books and toys went into that box.

“It is a shame for a fellow to have no clothes that fit him!” declared Tom. “I’ve been there myself, and I know how it feels. I had to wear my brother Dick’s overcoat once, and it was too large for me. Mr. Briggs says he is about the size of Roger”—he meant Teddy, and not Mr. Briggs. “We must ask mother about that.”

They asked her to such purpose, and Aunt Cornelia as well, that two neat suits of Roger’s and Cousin Harry’s second best clothes went into the box.

The day in which it was finally packed was a jubilee. The cousins were all invited to Aunt Cornelia’s to supper, and packed the box in the large dining-room after supper, with a little of Aunt Cornelia’s and Uncle Roger’s help.

“I don’t know as I ever had so much fun in my life,” said Holly, looking up from the driving of the last nail to make the remark. “It is better than Christmas a dozen times; in fact it is a Christmas extension.”

“And won’t it be fun to hear from Teddy?” said Hortense.

But as for us, we cannot expect to hear from Teddy until January.

Pansy.