“Go away!  This is my affair.”  Miss Terry read her expression and sniffed.  “There is the Christmas spirit coming out again,” she said to herself.  “Look at her face!”

The black-gowned woman prepared to move on with the toy under her arm.  But the second woman caught hold of her skirt and began to speak earnestly.  She pointed to the Noah’s ark, then to her two children.  Her eyes were beseeching.  The little boys crowded forward eagerly.  But some wicked spirit seemed to have seized the finder of the ark.  Angrily she shook off the hand of the other woman, and clutching the box yet more firmly under her arm, she hurried away.  Once, twice, she turned and shook her head at the ragged woman who followed her.  Then, with a savage gesture at the two children, she disappeared beyond Miss Terry’s straining eyes.  The poor woman and her boys followed forlornly at a distance.

“They really wanted it, that old Noah’s ark!” exclaimed Miss Terry in amazement.  “I can scarcely believe it.  But why did that other creature keep the thing?  I see!  Only because she found they cared for it.  Well, that is a happy spirit for Christmas time, I should say!  Humph!  I did not expect to find anything quite so mean as that!”

CHAPTER V

MIRANDA

Miss Terry returned to the fireside, fumbled in the box, and drew out a doll.  She was an ugly, old-fashioned doll, with bruised waxen face of no particular color.  Her mop of flaxen hair was straggling and uneven, much the worse for the attention of generations of moths.  She wore a faded green silk dress in the style of Lincoln’s day, and a primitive bonnet, evidently made by childish hands.  She was a strange, dead-looking figure, with pale eyelids closed, as Miss Terry dragged her from the box.  But when she was set upright the lids snapped open and a pair of bright blue eyes looked straight into those of Miss Terry.  It was so sudden that the lady nearly gasped.

“Miranda!” she exclaimed.  “It is old Miranda!  I have not thought of her for years.”  She held the doll at arm’s length, gazing fixedly at her for some minutes.

“I cannot burn her,” she muttered at last.  “It would seem almost like murder.  I don’t like to throw her away, but I have vowed to get rid of these things to-night.  And I’ll do it, anyway.  Yes, I’ll make an experiment of her.  I wonder what sort of trouble she will cause.”

Not even Miss Terry could think of seeing old Miranda lying exposed to the winter night.  She found a piece of paper, rolled up the doll in a neat package, and tied it with red string.  It was, to look upon, entirely a tempting package.  Once more she stole down the steps and hesitated where to leave Miranda:  not on the sidewalk,—­for some reason that seemed impossible.  But near the foot of the flight of steps leading to the front door she deposited the doll.  The white package shone out plainly in the illuminated street.  There was no doubt that it would be readily seen.