The sunlight of a bright Christmas morning had hardly dawned upon the earth, when from many a planter’s home in the sunny south was heard the joyful cry of “Christmas Gift,” “Christmas Gift,” as the negroes ran over and against each other, hiding ofttimes, until some one came within hailing distance, when their loud “Christmas Gift” would make all echo again.  On this occasion, every servant at Maple Grove was remembered, for Anna and ’Lena had worked both early and late in preparing some little present, and feeling amply compensated for their trouble, when they saw how much happiness it gave.  Mabel, too, while she stayed, had lent a helping hand, and many a blessing was that morning invoked upon her head from the hearts made glad by her generous gifts.  Carrie, when asked to join them, had turned scornfully away, saying “she’d plenty to do, without working for niggers; who could not appreciate it.”

So all her leisure hours were spent in embroidering a fine cambric handkerchief, intended as a present for Mrs. Graham, and which with a delicate note was, the evening previous, sent to Woodlawn, with instructions to have it placed next morning on Mrs. Graham’s table.  Of course Mrs. Graham felt in duty bound to return the compliment, and looking over her old jewelry, she selected a diamond ring which she had formerly worn, but which was now too small for her fat chubby fingers.  This was immediately forwarded to Maple Grove, reaching there just as the family were rising from the breakfast-table.

“Oh, isn’t it beautiful—­splendid—­magnificent!” were Carrie’s exclamations, while she praised Mrs. Graham’s generosity, secretly wondering if “Durward did not have something to do with it.”

On this point she was soon set right, for the young man himself erelong appeared, and after bidding them all a “Merry Christmas,” presented Anna with a package which, on being opened, proved to be a large and complete copy of Shakspeare, elegantly bound, and bearing upon its heavy golden clasp the words “Anna Livingstone, from Durward,”

“This you will please accept from me,” said he.  “Mother, I believe, has sent Carrie something, and if ’Lena will step to the door, she will see her gift from father, who hopes it will give her as much pleasure to accept it, as it does him to present it.”

“What can it be?” thought Carrie, rising languidly from the sofa, and following ’Lena and her sister to the side door, where stood one of Mr. Graham’s servants, holding a beautiful gray pony, all nicely equipped for riding.

Never dreaming that this was intended for ’Lena, Carrie looked vacantly around, saying, “Why, where is it?  I don’t see anything.”

“Here,” said Durward, taking the bridle from the negro’s hand, and playfully throwing it across ’Lena’s neck, “Here it is—­this pony, which we call Vesta.  Vesta, allow me to introduce you and your new mistress, Miss ’Lena, to each other,” and catching her up, as if she had been a feather, he placed her in the saddle.  Then, at a peculiar whistle, the well-trained animal started off upon an easy gallop, bearing its burden lightly around the yard, and back again to the piazza.