thought, but condition and circumstance had made her a woman in many matters, and the art of shopping she knew well.  Slowly, very slowly, she made her way to the particular counter at which her precious purchase was to be made, lingering here and there to gaze at things as much beyond her hope of possession as the stars of heaven; and, following her slow-walking, Van Landing could see her eyes brighten and yearn, her lips move, her hand outstretch to touch and then draw back quickly, and also every now and then he could see her shake her head.

“What is it?” he asked.  “Why do you do that?  Is there anything in here you would like to get, besides the thing you came for?”

“Anything I’d like to get!” The words were repeated as if not heard aright.  “Anybody would know you’d never been a girl.  There isn’t much in here I wouldn’t like to get if I didn’t have to pay for it.”

“But not rattles and dolls and drums and pop-guns and boxing-gloves and all the other things you’ve looked at.  Girls of your age—­”

“This girl wasn’t looking at them for herself.  I’m ’most grown up now.  But everybody on our street has got a baby, and a lot of children besides.  Mrs. Perry has twins and a baby, and Mrs. Latimer always has two on a bottle at the same time.  I’m just buying things in my mind.  It’s the only way I can buy ’em, and Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas if you couldn’t buy some way.  Sallie Simcoe will go crazy if she don’t get a doll that whistles.  She saw one in a window once.  It was a Whistling Jim and cost a dollar.  She won’t get it.  Oh, here it is, Mr. Van!  Here’s the counter where the jewelry things are.”

As she neared it she nodded to Van Landing and pointed to her father, who, hand on her shoulder, had kept close to her, then beckoned him to come nearer.  “He can’t see, I know”—­her voice was excited—­“but take him away, won’t you?  I wouldn’t have him guess it, not for anything on earth!  I’ll be through in a minute.”

In moments incredibly few, but to Van Landing tormentingly long, she was back again, and close to her heart she was hugging a tiny package with one hand, while the other was laid on her father’s arm.  “I got it,” she whispered; “it’s perfectly beautiful.”  She spoke louder.  “I guess we’d better be going now.  I know you’re hungry, and so am I. Come on.  We can walk home, and then I’ll make the tea.”

For a second Van Landing hesitated, then he followed the odd-looking couple out into the street, but as they started to turn the corner he stopped.

“I say”—­he cleared his throat to hide its embarrassed hesitation—­“don’t you want to do me a favor?  Where I live I don’t buy the things I eat, and I’ve often thought I’d like to.  If you are going to make the tea and toast, why can’t I get the—­the chicken, say, and some salad and things?  That’s a good-looking window over there with cooked stuff in it.  We’ll have a party and each put in something.”