The day before Christmas Ruth awoke with an ache in her heart, and an inexpressible longing for mother and father. It was even worse, she thought, than the Christmas before when grief for her mother was so keenly new. Then, she and her father had been so occupied making the hard day easier for each other that it had passed almost pleasantly. But now, with her best chum so far away, the longing for her mother increased tenfold, and Ruth found herself wishing that she could go to sleep again, and not wake until the holidays were over.

It was hard to look cheerful at the breakfast-table, and every one missed the gay laugh and chatter which usually made the meal so pleasant.

"You're not ill, child, are you?" asked Mr. Hamilton as he rose from the table.

"Oh, no," answered Ruth quickly, feeling that it would be rank ingratitude to look melancholy after ail their kindness to her.

"That's right," he said with a farewell pat. "We can't have you looking sober. You know I depend on you to give me a merry Christmas."

"I'll try," answered Ruth dutifully, but she felt that it would be an impossibility for her to add to any one's happiness.

"Perhaps you will help me a little, Ruth," said Mrs. Hamilton as they finished breakfast. "I'm going to pack and deliver some Christmas baskets this morning, and I really need some assistance in order to get through with it."

"I'd love to. Mother and I always did that, and I used to think it almost the nicest part of Christmas. Mayn't I buy something to put in the baskets, or have you all that you can use?"

"It would be very nice if you would, for I've just heard of a family this morning where the children haven't the necessary winter clothing. There are four children, the oldest about seven and the youngest a baby, and I'm sure you will find a great many things they need at the little store near the post-office. If you feel like taking that off my mind I shall be truly grateful."

"Indeed I do," and Ruth, looking more cheerful already, ran off to put on her coat and gay little hat. It is undeniable that doing for others is the best cure for an ache in one's own heart, and Ruth felt almost happy for the next half hour as she bought little suits of underwear, warm petticoats and stockings, and red mittens enough for the entire family. She felt quite like Santa Claus as she walked down the street, for she had made a last purchase of toys and candy, and enticing-looking bundles stuck out in all directions. Those who passed couldn't help smiling at the pretty girl who, for the time, at least, was the embodiment of Christmas cheer.

"There, that was fun," she said with a sigh of satisfaction as she deposited her bundles on the table. "Now, let me help you pack."

For the remainder of the morning there was no time to be unhappy, for by the time the baskets were packed the sleigh was at the door. Mrs. Hamilton's errands took them to the outskirts of the town, where great fields of snow spread their dazzling whiteness, and the cool, crisp air blew the cobwebs from one's brain. Ruth learned a helpful lesson in the art of giving, for Mrs. Hamilton was as beautifully simple and friendly with the poor women she visited as with her wealthier friends, and it was a pleasure to see the good comradeship with which she entered into their joys and sorrows.

"This is my last visit for the morning," said Mrs. Hamilton, as the sleigh drew up before a neat little house. "I have just a little Christmas remembrance to leave here, and I think you may find this the most attractive place of all."

Ruth followed Mrs. Hamilton into the house with real curiosity, only to be met by a cheerful, rosy-cheeked woman who looked clean and wholesome, though not especially interesting. She was putting an extra polish on her little parlor, which already looked spotless, and singing softly as she did so. As the song stopped Ruth realized that the words were French and she began to feel curious immediately.

"Ah, Mrs. Hamilton, it ees a great pleasure to see you," the woman said as Mrs. Hamilton shook hands with her. "Marie will be so happy. She has so wearied for you."

Mrs. Hamilton and Ruth followed the good woman into the little room, which was dining-room and sitting-room combined, and where on a couch lay a girl a year or two older than Ruth. The great dark eyes, looking out of the palest face Ruth had ever seen, lighted up with joy, and a flashing smile disclosed faultless teeth as the girl said with an accent even more marked than Mrs. Perrier's, "It ees my angel of mercy come again. I am so glad, so glad."

"I thought you might get tired of such an old angel, Marie," laughed Mrs. Hamilton, "so I've brought a younger one along with me. Come here, Ruth, and let me make you acquainted with my friend, Marie Borel, who has left her Swiss mountains, and has come to America to do great things."

"Such great things I have done!" said Marie, reproachfully. "The first thing ees to get seeck so that my good aunt should have to take care of me. I do not like to make so much trouble."

"It is nothing," said her aunt affectionately as she patted the thin hand. "The uncle and I, we care only for your pain and trouble. It ees a pleasure to have you with us."

Marie looked at her with such loving gratitude in her soft eyes that her aunt retreated to the kitchen where Mrs. Hamilton followed her on the pretext of obtaining a promised recipe.

Left to themselves the girls chatted in friendliest fashion, and Ruth soon learned at least the outlines of Marie's story. Her father had been pastor in a quaint little town of French Switzerland, and there Marie had been born and had lived until death had taken both father and mother within a year. Then, heart-broken over her loss, she had accepted with gratitude an invitation from her aunt, who had gone to America with her husband when Marie was a little girl.

It was a trial of Ruth's self-control when Marie told so simply and pathetically of the death of her mother and father, for her own loss seemed so terribly near. "I've lost my mother, too, Marie," she said softly, "and my father has gone so far away that sometimes I feel quite alone."

"Ah, then you can understand how hard it is to be brave when one has so great a sorrow."

"Indeed I can. And I'm not always brave. But tell me what happened to you after you got here."

"Something, my grief, perhaps, or the voyage, made me so seeck. But it ees much better already, for now I can read a little and can also sew." As she spoke Marie took from a little bag lying by her side a piece of embroidery which to Ruth's eyes seemed a marvel of neatness and beauty.

"Oh, how lovely!" she said admiringly. "How can you do such fine even work?"

"We are taught to make such fine stitches when we are very little girls," answered Marie much gratified at the praise. "And I also make the pillow lace. Have you ever seen that made?"

Ruth looked with greatest interest at the plump cushion with its rows of pins, and watched intently while the thin hands deftly tossed the bobbins around in most mysterious fashion.

"Oh, you do that so fast and so carelessly," she said at last, "and yet that beautiful pattern comes so perfectly." "Isn't it wonderful, Ruth?" asked Mrs. Hamilton, coming into the room. "I hoped Marie would show you her lace pillow and her embroidery."

"It's perfectly fascinating," declared Ruth, "and I'd like to learn, but I know I should tie all those threads in a tight knot right away."

"Come over and I will teach you a simple pattern that in my country quite little children learn to make," urged Marie, who longed for another visit from her new friend.

"I'll come again gladly, but I'm not sure that I shall ever have courage to attempt anything so wonderful," laughed Ruth as she rose to go.

"I'm so glad you took me there, Aunt Mary," she said as they got into the sleigh. "You seem to know just what to do for people when they are miserable."

"I knew that what you wanted most I couldn't give you, dear, so I tried the next best thing."

"Marie was so cheerful and patient that it made me ashamed to be anything else when I'm so well and have father. Only it seems as though I never wanted my mother more than I do to-day." Ruth's voice trembled and the tears filled her eyes.

"Dear, we think you are brave, and we have appreciated your struggles more than you suspect," said Mrs. Hamilton tenderly. "We are so grateful for what you have done for Arthur, and the whole house seems more cheerful when our borrowed daughter is in it."

Ruth's face brightened, and her hand sought Mrs. Hamilton's under the robe and squeezed it hard. She was silent for a moment and then she cried gayly, "From now on I 'solomon promidge,' as some one used to say, to be good and cheerful for the rest of the day."

"That's right, darling; and now let's see if any Christmas greetings have arrived while we've been away," said Mrs. Hamilton as they entered the house.

"I should say they had," said Arthur, who had just come down to lunch, and was scrutinizing the addresses on several interesting looking packages. "Here's a heavy box for Ruth, and several small packages for you, mother."

"Oh, would you open it now, or would you wait until to-morrow?" cried Ruth, as she weighed the package in her hands and studied the outside. "It's too fascinating, and I really can't wait," she decided, and cutting the string with the knife Arthur held out to her, she soon disclosed a box of unmistakable intent.

"Tyler's!" she said rapturously, "and five pounds of it, I'm sure. That's Uncle Jerry's writing on the envelope. 'For the Social Six, whose acquaintance I hope to make in the near future.' How dear of him! And that means that he's coming to Boston some time this winter! Oh, I shall be so happy if he does."

"He's a wise young man to pave the way beforehand so sweetly," said Mrs. Hamilton with a laugh. "Ail the girls will think him quite perfect."

"He's the nicest uncle that ever lived, and we do have such good times together. He's only twelve years older than I am, you know, and he seems more like a brother than an uncle." As Ruth spoke the front door opened suddenly and Mr. Hamilton entered.

"Am I just in time for lunch?" he asked gaily. "I thought I'd come out early to-day and play with Ruth. Besides, I have a package here which she might like to investigate."

He gave Ruth a bundle which was almost covered with seals, stamps and addresses, and a letter which bore a foreign postmark.

"From father," exclaimed Ruth. "Excuse me if I open it now. Do listen to this," she said as her eyes traveled quickly over the familiar handwriting. "'The package which I am sending in Mr. Hamilton's care contains some little gifts for the girls and boys about whom you have written to me. They have all been so kind to you that I am glad to express my gratitude to them even in so slight a manner. I shall leave you to bestow them as you think fit, and only hope that they will enjoy them as much as I have enjoyed choosing them.'

"Isn't that the loveliest thing you ever heard of?" said Ruth, turning to Mrs. Hamilton. "Won't we have fun deciding about them?"

"Let's have an impromptu party, to-night, if we can get the girls and boys together," said Mrs. Hamilton, who was as much a girl as Ruth about some things.

"Splendid!" said Ruth, and then added in comical dismay, "I don't see how you expect me to eat any lunch with such exciting times in prospect."

"We'll eat and plan at the same moment," consoled Mrs. Hamilton, "and then you won't feel that you're losing precious time."

It was decided that they should invite only the Social Six girls, and the boys of the Candle Club, and to Ruth was left the pleasant task of telephoning where she could, and sending John with notes to the others. Every one in the house was busy, for each wanted to have a hand in making Ruth's first party in her new home a happy one. Delicious odors began to come from the kitchen, where Ellen was flying around with a red and beaming face, and even Arthur was shut up in his room carrying out mysterious directions his mother had given him.

"I've been racking my brains to think up some quite novel way to give these presents," said Ruth as she and Mrs. Hamilton finished making their selections.

"Just leave it to me. I have a plan for that, and all you need to do is to make them into nice little packages. You can use these small cards for marking them."

Ruth sat in her room making her parcels gay with gold cord and sprigs of holly until she heard Mrs. Hamilton calling her. Then she went down-stairs to find the family assembled in the dining-room for a light and early supper. Until they had met at the table it had not occurred to Ruth to wonder how Arthur would take this sudden festivity.

So it was with real purpose but with an apparently careless manner that she stopped him on his way to the stairs to say, "Do be down before any one comes, for I want you to help me out. I feel really embarrassed over my first party."

"I'm not coming down," he answered abruptly.

"Not coming down? Oh, Arthur, that's too bad of you. Does your mother know?"

"No, not yet. I told her I'd try, and I have, but I can't manage it." Arthur's face and manner were so forlorn that it took all Ruth's courage to continue. She glanced around but there was no one within hearing, and at last she said, "Why won't you come down? Is it because you can't bear to have the boys and girls see you on crutches?"

Arthur nodded uncomfortably. He hated to talk of this to any one, and he hadn't expected any determined interference in his plans.

"Don't you suppose they ail know about it? And if they do will just seeing you make any difference?" continued Ruth, quite surprised at her own eloquence, and still persistently barring the way to the stairs. "I know that they are all longing to have you with them again, and that none of the good times seem the same without you. I heard Frank and Joe say the other day that if you kept up this sort of thing much longer they were going to make a raid on your room and have it out with you."

"I wish they would," answered Arthur gloomily. "Perhaps they might knock some sense into me."

"Well, if you want to know what I think," Ruth went on, feeling that her courage was fast departing, and on that very account growing more and more severe, "I think it's cowardly to shut yourself away from your friends and spoil everything like this. I dare say you are one of the very boys who think that ail girls are cry-babies, but I can't see why it isn't playing baby to do as you are doing."