“After that we had breakfast and family worship, and then he took me on his knee again and asked how I would like to spend the day?

“I answered that I would be glad to have a drive if he did not think it too cold.  He said he thought it was not if I were well wrapped up.

“There was no snow to make sleighing, so the carriage was ordered, I was bundled up in furs, and we drove several miles.

“As we were about starting I ventured to ask, ’Papa, haven’t you forgotten to send my presents to Pinegrove?’ He smiled and said, ’No, my darling,’ in a very pleasant tone, but that was all, and when we came back I noticed that the presents were still in a closet in my dressing room where they had lain ever since they were bought.

“I was quite puzzled to understand it, but I asked no questions.

“Mammy arranged my hair and dress, and I went back to the parlor where papa was sitting reading.  He laid aside his book as soon as I entered the room, took me on his knee, and began telling me funny stories that kept me laughing till a carriage drove up to the door.

“‘There, some one has come!’ he said; ’it seems we are not to spend the day alone after all.’

“Then in another minute or two, the door opened and in came my six little friends for whom I had bought the presents.”

Grace clapped her hands in delight.  “Oh how nice! and didn’t you have a good time, Grandma Elsie?”

“Yes, very; they had all come to spend the day; I had the pleasure of presenting my gifts in person and of seeing that they were fully appreciated; we played quiet games and papa told us lovely stories.  There was no fretting or quarrelling, everybody was in high good humor, and when the time came to separate, my guests all bade good bye, saying, ‘they had never had a more enjoyable day.’”

“Now please tell about the next Christmas and New Year’s, mamma,” urged Walter, as she paused, as though feeling that her tale was ended.

“Let mamma have time to breathe and to think what comes next, Walter,” said Rosie.  “Don’t you see that’s what she is doing?”

“I am thinking of those little friends of mine,” sighed their mother; “asking myself ‘Where are they now?’ Ah what changes life brings! how short and hasty it is, and how soon it will be over!  I mean the life in this world.

“It is likened in the Bible to a pilgrimage, a tale that is told, a flower that soon withers or is cut down by the mower’s scythe, a dream, a sleep, a vapor, a shadow, a handbreadth; a thread cut by the weaver.”

“Mamma, are those friends of yours all dead?” asked Walter.

“I will tell you about them,” she answered.  “Herbert Carrington died young—­he was barely sixteen.”

With the words a look of pain swept across the still fair, sweet face of the speaker, and she paused for a moment as if almost overcome by some sad recollection.

Violet, who had heard the story from Grandma Rose, understood it.