“What rubbish!” she said.  “Yes, I’ll burn them all.  They are good for nothing else.  I suppose some folks would try to give them away, and bore a lot of people to death.  They seem to think they are saving something, that way.  Nonsense!  I know better.  It is all foolishness, this craze for giving.  Most things are better destroyed as soon as you are done with them.  Why, nobody wants such truck as this.  Now, could any child ever have cared for so silly a thing?” She pulled out a faded jumping-jack, and regarded it scornfully.  “Idiotic!  Such toys are demoralizing for children—­weaken their minds.  It is a shame to think how every one seems bound to spoil children, especially at Christmas time.  Well, no one can say that I have added to the shameful waste.”

Miss Terry tossed the poor jumping-jack on the fire, and eyed his last contortions with grim satisfaction.

But as she watched, a quaint idea came to her.  She was famous for eccentric ideas.

“I will try an experiment,” she said.  “I will prove once for all my point about the ‘Christmas spirit.’  I will drop some of these old toys out on the sidewalk and see what happens.  It may be interesting.”

CHAPTER II

JACK-IN-THE-BOX

Miss Terry rose and crossed two rooms to the front window, looking out upon the street.  A flare of light almost blinded her eyes.  Every window opposite her along the block, as far as she could see, was illuminated with a row of lighted candles across the sash.  The soft, unusual glow threw into relief the pretty curtains and wreaths of green, and gave glimpses of cosy interiors and flitting happy figures.

“What a waste of candles!” scolded Miss Terry.  “Folks are growing terribly extravagant.”

The street was white with snow which had fallen a few hours earlier, piled in drifts along the curb of the little-traveled terrace.  But the sidewalks were neatly shoveled and swept clean, as became the eminently respectable part of the city where Miss Terry lived.  A long flight of steps, with iron railing at the side, led down from the front door, upon which a silver plate had for generations in decorous flourishes announced the name of Terry.

Miss Terry returned to the play box and drew out between thumb and finger the topmost toy.  It happened to be a wooden box, with a wire hasp for fastening the cover.  Half unconsciously she pressed the spring, and a hideous Jack-in-the-box sprang out to confront her with a squeak, a leering smile, and a red nose.  Miss Terry eyed him with disfavor.

“I always did hate that thing,” she said.  “Tom was continually frightening me with it, I remember.”  As if to be rid of unwelcome memories she shut her mouth tight, even as she shut Jack back into his box, snapping the spring into place.  “This will do to begin with,” she thought.  She crossed to the window, which she opened quickly, and tossed out the box, so that it fell squarely in the middle of the sidewalk.  Then closing the window and turning down the lights in the room behind her, Miss Terry hid in the folds of the curtain and watched to see what would happen to Jack.