IT was eight o'clock, the morning of the twenty-fourth day of December, which is twice as exciting a day as the twenty-fifth and at least ten times as interesting as the twenty-sixth.

Bettie, and as many of the little Tuckers as had been able to find enough clothes for decency, were eating pancakes a great deal faster than Mrs. Tucker could bake them over the Rectory stove. Marjory, her young countenance somewhat puckered because of the tartness of her grapefruit, was sitting sedately opposite her Aunty Jane. Jean had finished her breakfast and was tying mysterious tissue paper parcels with narrow scarlet ribbon; and Mabel, having suddenly remembered that this was the day that the postman brought interesting mail, was hurrying with might and main to get into her sailor blouse in order to capture the letters. Of course she didn't expect to open any of her Christmas mail; but she did like to squeeze the packages. Henrietta was reading a long, delightful letter from her father. Mrs. Slater, too, had Christmas letters.

Five blocks away Mr. Black and Mrs. Crane were finishing their breakfast. Their dining-room was at the back of the house, where its three broad windows commanded a fine view of the lake. Just at the top of the bluff and well inside the Black-Crane yard stood a wonderfully handsome fir tree, a truly splendid tree, for in all Lakeville there was no other evergreen to compare with it in size, shape or color.

Every now and again, Mr. Black would turn in his chair to gaze earnestly out the window at the tree. For a long time, Mrs. Crane, her nice dark eyes dancing with fun, watched her brother in silence. But when he began to consume the last quarter of his second piece of toast she felt that it was time to speak.

"Peter," said she, "you can't do it."

"Do what?" asked Mr. Black, with a guilty start.

"Cut down that tree. I know, just as well as I know anything, that you're just aching to make that splendid big evergreen into a Christmas-tree for Rosa Marie and those four girls."

"How do you know it?" queried Mr. Black, eying his sister with quick suspicion.

"Because I had the same thought myself. It would be fine for Christmas—it looks like a Christmas-tree every day of the year. And if you've been a sort of bottled-up Santa Claus all your life you're apt to be pretty foolish when you're finally unbottled. And that tree——"

"But," queried Mr. Black, "what would it be the day after?"

"That," confessed Mrs. Crane, "is what bothers me."

"It does seem a shame," said Mr. Black, rising and walking to the window, "to cut down such a perfect specimen as that; and yet, in all my life I never met a tree so evidently designed for the express purpose of serving as a Christmas-tree. It's a real temptation."

"I know it," sighed Mrs. Crane. "It's been tempting me; but I said: 'Get thee behind me, Santa Claus, and send me to the proper place for Christmas-trees.'"

"And did you go to that place?"

"It came to me. I engaged a twelve-foot tree from a man that was taking orders at the door."

"So did I," confessed Mr. Black. "I'm not sure that I didn't order two."

"Peter Black! You're spoiling those children."

"I'm having plenty of help," twinkled Mr. Black, shrewdly.

With so many trees to choose from, it certainly seemed probable that the Black-Crane household would have at least one respectable specimen to decorate; but half an hour later, when the three ordered balsams arrived, both Mr. Black and Mrs. Crane were greatly disappointed. The trees had shrunk from twelve to six feet, and the uneven branches were thin and sparsely covered.

"Why!" exclaimed Mr. Black, "all three of those trees together wouldn't make a whole tree."

"They look," said Mrs. Crane, "as if they were shedding their feathers."

"Most of them," agreed Mr. Black, "have already been shed. I said, Mr. Man, that I wanted good trees."

"My wagon broke down," explained the tree-man, "so I couldn't bring anything that I couldn't haul on a big sled. They weigh a lot, those big fellows."

"Can't you make a special trip," suggested Mrs. Crane, "and bring us a first-class tree—just one?"

"It's too late. I have to go too far before I'm allowed to cut any."

"Well," said Mr. Black, "I'll pay you for these, and I'll give you fifty cents extra to haul them off the premises. We don't want any such sorrowful specimens round here to cast a gloom over our Christmas, do we, Sarah?"

"Peter," announced Mrs. Crane, when the man had departed with his scraggly trees, "I have an idea. The weather's likely to stay mild for another twenty-four hours, isn't it?"

"I think so."

"And this is an honest town?"

"As honest as they make 'em."

"And all those girls are accustomed to being outdoors——"

"I see!" cried Mr. Black, giving Mrs. Crane's plump shoulders a sudden, friendly whack. "I almost thought of that myself. We'll certainly surprise 'em this time."

Although it was getting late, Mr. Black still hung about the house as if he had not yet freed his mind of Christmas matters.

"I suppose," said Mr. Black, breaking a long silence, "that you've thought of a few things to put on the tree for those girls?"

"Yes," admitted Mrs. Crane, guardedly, "I've gathered up some little fixings that I thought they'd fancy."

"It might be a good idea," said Mr. Black, rising to ring for Martin, "for us to compare notes. Two heads are better than one, you know; and after what they did for us, we owe those little folks a splendid Christmas."

"We certainly do," agreed Mrs. Crane, wiping away the sudden moisture that sprung to her eyes at thought of the memorable dinner party in Dandelion Cottage—the dinner that had brought her estranged brother to the rescue. "I don't know where I'd have been now if it hadn't been for those blessed children. In the poorhouse, probably."

"Martin," said Mr. Black, huskily, "you go to the storeroom in the basement. Take a hatchet with you and knock the top off that wooden box that is marked with a big blue cross and bring it up here to me."

Presently Martin, who always blundered if there was the very faintest excuse for blundering, returned, proudly bearing the cover of the large box.

"Thank you," replied Mr. Black, turning twinkling eyes upon Mrs. Crane, who twinkled back. "Now bring up the box with all the things in it."

"I'll get my things, too," offered Mrs. Crane. "They're right here in the library closet, in a clothes hamper."

Then when Martin had brought the box, the two middle-aged people began to sort their presents. They went about it rather awkwardly because neither had had much experience; but they were certainly enjoying their novel occupation.

"This," said Mr. Black, clearing a space on the big library table, "is Bettie's pile, and Heaven knows that I tried not to get it bigger than the other three; but everything I saw in the shops shouted 'Buy me for Bettie'—and I usually obeyed."

"This is Jean's pile," said Mrs. Crane, baring another space, "and I guess I feel about Jean the way you do about Bettie; but I love Bettie too—and all of them. Rosa Marie's things will have to go on the floor—they're mostly bumpy and breakable."

Mr. Black rummaged in his box, Mrs. Crane fished in her basket. Presently there was a rapidly growing, untidy heap of large, lumpy bundles on the floor for Rosa Marie, and four very neat stacks of square, compact parcels for the Cottagers.

"Let's open them all," suggested Mr. Black, eagerly. "We can tie them up again."

So the elderly couple, as interested as two children, opened their packages. At first, both were too busy renewing acquaintanceship with their own purchases to notice what the other was doing; but presently Mrs. Crane gave a start as her eye traveled over the table.

"Why, Peter Black," she exclaimed. "Here are two watches in Bettie's pile!"

"I didn't buy but one of them," declared Mr. Black, placing his finger on one of the dainty timepieces. "That's mine."

"The other's mine," confessed Mrs. Crane. "And, Peter, did you go and buy dolls all around, too?"

"I did," owned Mr. Black, opening a long narrow box. "One always buys dolls for Christmas."

"Well," sighed Mrs. Crane, "I guess they can stand two apiece, because ours are not a bit alike. You see, you got carried away by fine clothes and I paid more attention to the dolls themselves. The bodies are first-class and the faces are lovely. I bought mine undressed and I've had four weeks' pleasure dressing them—I sort of hate to give them up. The clothes are plain and substantial; I couldn't make 'em fancy."

"But the watches, Sarah?"

"Well, I guess we'll have to send half of those watches back. Yours are the nicest—we'll keep yours."

"I suspect," said Mr. Black, reflectively pinching two large parcels in Rosa Marie's heap, "that we've both bought Teddy bears for Rosa Marie. And we've both supplied the girls with perfume, purses and writing paper, but I don't see any books."

"We'll use the extra-watch money for books," decided Mrs. Crane, promptly. "Suppose you attend to that—if we both do it we'll have another double supply. I see we've both bought candy, too; but I need a box for the milk-boy and I'd like to send some little thing to Martin's small sister."

"On the whole," said Mr. Black, complacently, "we've managed pretty well considering our inexperience; but next time we'll do better."