When the driver went out to feed his horses and to smoke his pipe, and Mr. Hickson had retired, the children, having overcome some of their timidity, turned their attention to Dorian.  The girl, the oldest, with dark hair and rosy cheeks, reminded him of another girl just then in his thoughts.  The two small boys were chubby and light haired, after the mother.  When Dorian managed to get the children close to him, they reminded him that Christmas was only one day distant.  Did he live near by?  Was he going home for Christmas?  What was Santa Claus going to bring him?

Dorian warmed to their sociability and their clatter.  He learned from them that their Christmas this year would likely be somewhat of a failure.  Daddy was sick.  There was no Christmas tree, and they doubted Santa Claus’ ability to find his way up in the mountains in the storm.  This was the first winter they had been here.  Always they had been in town during the holidays, where it was easy for Santa to reach them; but now—­the little girl plainly choked back the tears of disappointment.

“Why, if it’s a Christmas tree you want,” said Dorian, “that ought to be easy.  There are plenty up on the nearby hills.”

“Yes; but neither papa nor mama nor we can get them.”

“But I can.”

“Oh, will you?  Tomorrow?”

“Yes; tomorrow is Christmas Eve.  We’ll have to have it then.”

The children were dancing with glee as the mother came in and learned what had been going on.  “You mustn’t bother the gentleman,” she admonished, but Dorian pleaded for the pleasure of doing something for them.  The mother explained that because of unforeseen difficulties the children were doomed to disappointment this holiday season, and they would have to be satisfied with what scanty preparation could be made.

“I think I can help,” suggested the young man, patting the littlest confiding fellow on the head.  “We cannot go on until tomorrow, I understand, and I should very much like to be useful.”

The big pleading eyes of the children won the day.  They moved into the kitchen.  All the corners were ransacked for colored paper and cloth, and with scissors and flour paste, many fantastic decorations were made to hang on the tree.  Corn was popped and strung into long white chains.  But what was to be done for candles?  Could Dorian make candles?  He could do most everything, couldn’t he?  He would try.  Had they some parafine, used to seal preserve jars.  Oh, yes, large pieces were found.  And this with some string was soon made into some very possible candles.  The children were intensely interested, and even the mail-driver wondered at the young man’s cleverness.  They had never seen anything like this before.  The tree and its trimmings had always been bought ready for their use.  Now they learned, which their parents should have known long ago, that there is greater joy in the making of a plaything than in the possession of it.