“No Christmas for us this year!” said Fred, coming out of his father’s study with his hands in his empty pockets, and a blank look on his face.

“No Christmas?” cried Edith. “What do you mean, Fred?”

“Hard times!” said her brother. “Father says he shall have all he can do to get through the winter, and that we mustn’t expect presents, or anything of that kind. Of course it’s all right, only,—it will seem queer, won’t it?”

“Oh, no money Christmas!” said Edith, looking relieved. “Yes, I knew that before. But we can have a merry Christmas, Fred, without money. I mean to have a particularly merry one, and you must help me.”

“I should like to know what you can do without any money!”

“Wait and see! and come out into the woods with me this afternoon, that’s a good boy!”

It was about a month before Christmas when this conversation took place; and all through December there were no busier young people in Woodville than Fred and Edith Brown. They slighted none of their lessons; but Fred spent a good part of his home time in the barn, with a hammer in his hand and a Latin grammar at his elbow; while Edith’s knitting needles flew as she bent over her history lesson. The day before Christmas, Papa and Mamma were summoned to dine and spend the day with Grandmamma. Mamma rather wondered that the children were not invited, and did not want to go without them; but their faces grew so direfully long at this suggestion that she saw through the little plot, though Papa did not, and she cheerfully took her shawl and departed, charging Edith to keep up the fire, and Fred to take care of the house.

When the parents returned in the evening the house was a bower of green. “Here is one thing that costs nothing!” Edith had said, “and it is half of a merry Christmas.” So she and Fred had brought great armfuls of fragrant cedar and hemlock, and tall fir saplings, which were set up in every corner, while wreaths hung in the windows, and long garlands festooned fireplace and picture frames. Papa looked very much pleased. “Why, it is Christmas already!” he said. “And I thought we should not have any celebration at all this year. You were too bright for me, children.”

“It’s all Edith, Papa!” said honest Fred.

“All but about two-thirds, Papa!” said Edith. “I could have done nothing without Fred’s strong arms.”

Next morning the sun was out, and the snow sparkled like diamonds in the golden light. “Here is something else that costs nothing, Edie!” cried Fred, who had entered heart and soul into his sister’s idea. “Sunshine is a pretty good present, isn’t it? And we have the very best article to-day.”

“Hurrah!” cried Edith, “this is glorious. Merry Christmas, boy! Smiles are another thing, Fred. Let’s be sure not to look gloomy for a single minute all day.”

“All right!” said Fred. “I’ll grin like the Cheshire cat from morning till night. Now, here’s mother’s work-table, all ready. It has taken a good polish, hasn’t it?”

“Splendid!” cried Edith. “And here’s father’s portfolio. Do you recognize the cover, Fred?”

“Looks like that pretty dress you had ever so long ago, when you were a little shaver,—I mean shaveress!”

“Just what it is! The pieces were folded away all this time, of no use to anybody. And there was enough to make this pretty work-bag for mother, and another like it for Aunt May. And,—look here, Fred! Merry Christmas, dear old fellow!”

Fred looked at the blue and gray toboggan cap with astonishment and delight. “Oh, Sis, that is a stunner! But, I say! you have broken the rule. This wool must have cost you something, and a good deal.”

“Not a penny!” rejoined his sister, triumphantly. “Do you remember that huge old comforter that Aunt Eliza sent me three years ago? I never could wear it out, though it was just as dear and kind of her to make it for me. That gave me the wool for the cap, and for several other things beside.”

“Well, it is a beauty!” said Fred. “Here’s all the present I have for you, and I wish it was a better one.” He produced a birchbark basket, filled with chestnuts and hickories, and was rewarded by a good old-fashioned hug.

“As if you could have found anything I should have liked better!” cried Edith. “Such beauties, too! Why, you must have picked out every single nut, Fred Brown!”

“Something like it!” admitted Fred.

“How about those partridges for dinner?”

“They are all ready to put in the oven!” Edith said. “Mother knows nothing about them yet, but is sighing a little because she has no chicken for us. And you know Mrs. Spicer gave me a jar of mince-meat for the cranberries I brought her. I am a little proud of my pie, Fred!”

“Hurrah for you!” said Fred.

Somehow or other the Browns had never had a merrier Christmas than this one of the hard winter. Edith said it was all the sunshine and the green boughs; Fred said it was all Edith; but Mr. and Mrs. Brown, as they sat by the cheerful hearth, and watched the chestnuts roasting, and listened to the merry young voices, gave reverent thanks for their treasure of love, and felt that they were rich in spite of the hard times.