Christmas morning, and oh, how early every one woke and jumped out of bed! Sammy was the first to look out of the window, and his shouts of joy brought everybody pell-mell to look out too.

“Snow,” he called, “more snow! Hurry up and get dressed.”

Sure enough the ground was covered with a fresh fall of snow, and at that moment up came the red winter sun making a beautiful sparkling Christmas world for the children to look upon.

Breakfast over, out they all trooped, and up went a snowman only to fall under a hail of snowballs. Mary Ellen and Polly pulled Lydia and the twins about on the sled, refreshing themselves between-times with wild toboggans down the hill. It seemed only a moment before Miss Martin called them in to make ready for church.

Two by two they walked along, past houses with wreaths of holly in the windows, sometimes catching glimpses between curtains of Christmas Trees like their own.

In the church it was green and sweet-smelling. From their seats in the balcony the children looked up at a big red star blazing high among the pine and balsam boughs. They sat quietly, the older ones now and then understanding a little of what was said, while between-times they counted the organ-pipes or swung their feet softly, the unlucky Sammy occasionally coming up against the pew with a thump. Every one—Miss Martin, too—was glad when their turn came to sing, and they could stretch stiff little legs and open their mouths wide. They sang—

“Away in a manger,

No crib for a bed,

The little Lord Jesus

Lay down His sweet head.

The stars in the sky

Looked down where He lay,

The little Lord Jesus

Asleep on the hay.

“The cattle are lowing,

The dear baby wakes.

The little Lord Jesus

No crying He makes.

I love Thee, Lord Jesus,

Look down from the sky,

And stay by my cradle

To watch lullaby.”

Lydia had a clear little voice and she sang out with a will, and all the while she sang she was thinking of Santa Claus’s promise.

After church came dinner—turkey and plum pudding—and then the children settled down around the Tree to play with their new toys. Lydia was rocking Lucy Locket to sleep when Nurse Norrie came into the room.

“Friend Morris has sent for you, Lydia,” said she. “Alexander is waiting outside.”

Nurse Norrie looked carefully at Lydia’s face and hands.

“You’re as clean as a pin,” said she. “It would be well if others were more like you.” And she rapped gently upon Sammy’s head as she passed. Sammy looked up with a grin.

“I don’t care,” said he with Christmas daring. “I don’t want to be clean. It’s sissy.”

On the doorstep Lydia slipped her hand in Alexander’s, and off they started. Alexander and his wife, Friend Deborah, were Quakers who had lived for many years with Mrs. Morris, and the children knew them well. Friend Deborah wore a drab stuff dress and a kerchief like Friend Morris, and Alexander’s broad-brimmed hat was quite different from that worn by other men.

“No, Lydia,” Alexander was saying, “thee is not going to Friend Morris’s house. She is spending the afternoon with friends in the city, and thee is to go there. And thee is going to ride on the Elevated cars.” Alexander knew that Lydia would like this.

Lydia gave a little skip of happiness. She did like to ride on the Elevated train high up in the air and look straight into the windows of the houses as they passed. To-day, as she kneeled on the seat and looked out, she saw Christmas Trees and family dinner-parties, a baby fastened in a high chair drumming on the window with his new rattle, and a little girl holding up her Christmas dolly to look out of the window too. At that moment the train stopped, and Lydia and the little girl smiled and waved and the dolly threw a stiff kiss in Lydia’s direction. Then on they went again, and all too soon Lydia and Alexander left the train, climbed down the steep flights of steps, and turned into a narrow little street with small, old-fashioned brick houses on either side of the way. Before one of them Alexander stopped and rang the bell, and in a moment the door was opened by a pretty lady with pink cheeks and soft brown hair who said, “Merry Christmas, Alexander. And this must be little Friend Lydia. Come in, Lydia. Friend Morris is upstairs waiting for you.”

And the pretty lady, whose name was Mrs. Blake, led Lydia into a bedroom to leave her hat and coat, and then upstairs where first of all Lydia spied a little kitchen and then a big room where Friend Morris sat before a blazing open fire.

It sounds topsy-turvy, doesn’t it? the bedrooms downstairs and the kitchen upstairs? But this is how it happened. Mr. Blake was an artist. He painted the most beautiful pictures in the world, Lydia thought, when she saw them, and his workroom or studio was the whole top floor of the house, except for a tiny little kitchen tucked away in a corner at the head of the stairs. So you see for yourself why the bedrooms were downstairs, and as Lydia afterward came to think it the nicest house that could ever be, it must have been a good arrangement after all.

Lydia felt at home at once, Friend Morris was so smiling, and Mrs. Blake so friendly, and Mr. Blake so full of fun. He stood before the fire looking down at the little girl, and something in the tall figure with the merry smile made her thoughts fly back to Santa Claus and her conversation with him the night before.

“They wouldn’t let me have anything to eat, Lydia,” said he, taking Lydia’s hand in his, “and I’m as hungry as a bear. But now that you’ve come perhaps they will give me a cake.”

Lydia saw the cakes on a little table in the corner, and hoped that she might have one too. But before she could answer some one jumped down from the window-sill and walked slowly toward her. It was a big Angora cat gray all over save for four white boots and a white necktie.

“This is Miss Puss Whitetoes,” said Mr. Blake. “Miss Puss, will you shake hands with Lydia?”

Sure enough, Miss Puss held out her paw and shook hands most politely. Then as Lydia sat on the floor beside her, she jumped into the little girl’s lap and in no time they were the best of friends.

“Lydia!” said a voice from far away, “Lydia!”

Lydia looked up from gently scratching Miss Puss’s head and saw that Mrs. Blake, busy at the tea-table, was calling her. Every one was smiling, so she smiled back.

“Mr. Blake can’t wait any longer for his cakes, Lydia,” said Mrs. Blake. “Will you help me pass the tea?”

Lydia very carefully carried a cup of tea to Friend Morris, and one to Mr. Blake, and then in her own cup of milk she dipped the silver tea-ball one, two, three times. It really almost tasted of tea after that. And as for the cakes—Lydia never before ate anything quite so good as those little cakes.

“And now, Friend Lydia, will thee sing a song for us?” asked Mrs. Morris.

So Lydia sang:

“I saw three ships go sailing by

On New Year’s Day in the morning.”

Then Mr. Blake and Lydia recited “The Night Before Christmas,” and were loudly applauded by Friend Morris and Mrs. Blake.

Now the room began to grow dark. Miss Puss settled herself for a nap in front of the fire, and Mr. Blake took Lydia on his lap. He was glad to hold a little girl in his arms again, for once he had had a little daughter of his own and had lost her.

“Did you have a nice Christmas, Lydia?” he asked. “What did Santa Claus bring you?”

“He brought me a doll,” answered Lydia, settling down on his lap with a sigh of content, “and she has a ring and a locket and so I named her Lucy Locket. But that’s not my real present. I must wait for that; and Santa Claus will try to bring it to me by-and-by. He promised.”

“A real present?” said Mr. Blake. “And what kind of a present is that?”

“It’s a father and a mother,” whispered Lydia in his ear, “a real father and mother of my own. Do you think he’ll bring it to me?”

“I do,” said Mr. Blake, “I do, indeed. I’m almost sure he will.”

He looked straight at Lydia as he spoke, and something in his blue eyes made her say, “You look just like Santa Claus—the way he did last night.”

“Do I?” said Mr. Blake with a laugh. “Well, I don’t know a better person to look like than Santa Claus.”

Lydia put up her hand and patted his face.

“I’m going to give you something,” said she. “I was saving it for Mary Ellen. It’s mine, I didn’t eat it myself, but I want to give it to you. It’s one of those good little cakes.” And she drew it from her crummy pocket and put it in Mr. Blake’s hand.

“Thank you, Lydia,” said he, “thank you. But I wouldn’t be surprised if Mrs. Blake could make up a little box for you to take home to Mary Ellen. Mother!” he called, “Mother!”

Mrs. Blake came into the room, and then, instead of saying anything about little cakes for Mary Ellen, “You tell her, Mother,” said Mr. Blake. “You tell her.”

“Oh, Friend Morris,” said Mrs. Blake, “you tell Lydia, won’t you?”

So Friend Morris came forward, and she was smiling as she had smiled all afternoon.

“Friend Lydia,” said she, “last night thee asked a present of Santa Claus, and to-day the present is given thee. Here are a good father and a good mother who will love thee well, and in turn they will have the love of a good little daughter. Does thee not understand what I am saying to thee, Friend Lydia?”

For Lydia was staring at Friend Morris with wide-open eyes. She could scarcely believe her ears. Friend Morris was still smiling, but tears were in her eyes. Then Lydia threw her arms about Mr. Blake’s neck. “A real father,” said Lydia. She turned to Mrs. Blake and held her as if she would never let her go. “And my own mother,” said Lydia, “my own mother.”

And there they were just so when Alexander’s knock came at the door.

“This is the nicest Christmas we’ve ever had, isn’t it, Lydia?” said Mr. Blake, his voice a trifle husky. Lydia smiled up into his face and softly patted the big hand laid upon her shoulder.

“And you’ll come back day after to-morrow, Lydia, to stay,” said Mrs. Blake, her arm still round the little girl, “and never go away again.”

Lydia nodded happily. She wasn’t able to talk about it yet. It seemed too good to be true. But she gave every one a parting hug all round. Then she whispered something in Mr. Blake’s ear.

“Please don’t forget the little cakes for Mary Ellen,” said little Friend Lydia.