“The master, your father, came in late last night, Miss, an’ he said there must be no noise or racket this morning.”

Ethel nodded sadly, her eyes filling at her disappointment; William then marched down the hall with a stately magnificence peculiar to butlers, and opened the door into the playroom.  He flung it wide and stood to one side like a grenadier, as Celeste and Ethel entered.  There was a gorgeous tree, beautifully trimmed.  William had bought the tree and Celeste’s French taste had adorned it.  It was a sight to delight any child’s eyes and the things strewn around it on the floor were even more attractive.  Everything that money could buy, that Celeste and William could think of was there.  Ethel’s mother had given her maid carte blanche to buy the child whatever she liked, and Ethel’s father had done the same with William.  The two had pooled their issue and the result was a toyshop dream.  Ethel looked at the things in silence.

“How do you like it, Miss?” asked William at last rather anxiously.

“Mademoiselle is not pleased?” questioned the French woman.

“It—­it—­is lovely,” faltered the little girl.

“We haf selected zem ourselves.”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Didn’t mamma—­buy anything—­or papa—­or Santa?”

“Zey tell us to get vatever you vould like and nevair mind ze money.”

“It was so good of you, I am sure,” said Ethel struggling valiantly against disappointment almost too great to bear.  “Everything is beautiful but—­I—­wish mamma or papa had—­I wish they were here—­I’d like them to wish me a Merry Christmas.”

The little lip trembled but the upper teeth came down on it firmly.  The child had courage.  William looked at Celeste and Celeste shrugged her shoulders, both knowing what was lacking.

“I am sure, Miss, that they do wish you a Merry Christmas, an’”—­the butler began bravely, but the situation was too much for him.  “There goes the master’s bell,” he said quickly and turned and stalked out of the room gravely, although no bell had summoned him.

“You may go, Celeste,” said Ethel with a dignity not unlike her mother’s manner.

[Illustration:  “I am sure, Miss, that they do wish you a Merry Christmas.”]

The maid shrugged her shoulders again, left the room and closed the door.  Everything was lovely, everything was there except that personal touch which means so much even to the littlest girl.  Ethel was used to being cared for by others than her parents but it came especially hard on her this morning.  She turned, leaving the beautiful things as they were placed about the tree, and walked to the end window whence she could get a view of the little house beyond the garage over the back wall.