With a quite unexplainable interest Miss Terry watched to see what would happen to Miranda.  She waited for some time.  The street seemed deserted.  Miss Terry caught the faint sound of singing.  The choristers were passing through a neighboring street, and doubtless all wayfarers within hearing of their voices were following in their wake.

She was thoroughly interested in her grim joke, but she was becoming impatient.  Were there to be no more passers?  Must the doll stay there unreclaimed until morning?  Presently she became aware of a child’s figure drawing near.  It was a little girl of about ten, very shabbily dressed, with tangled yellow curls hanging over her shoulders.  There was something familiar about her appearance, Miss Terry could not say what it was.  She came hurrying along the sidewalk with a preoccupied air, and seemed about to pass the steps without seeing the package lying there.  But just as she was opposite the window, her eye caught the gleam of the white paper.  She paused.  She looked at it eagerly; it was such a tempting package, both as to its size and shape!  She went closer and bent down to examine it.  She took it into her bare little hands and seemed to squeeze it gently.  There is no mistaking the contours of a doll, however well it may be enveloped in paper wrappings.  The child’s eyes grew more and more eager.  She glanced behind her furtively; she looked up and down the street.  Then with a sudden intuition she looked straight ahead, up the flight of steps.

[Illustration:  SHE LOOKED UP AND DOWN THE STREET]

Miss Terry read her mind accurately.  She was thinking that probably the doll belonged in that house; some one must have dropped the package while going out or in.  Would she ring the bell and return it?  Miss Terry had not thought of that possibility.  But she shook her head and her lip curled.  “Return it?  Of course not!  Ragged children do not usually return promising packages which they have found,—­even on Christmas Eve.  Look now!”

Once more the child glanced stealthily behind her, up and down the street.  Once more she looked up at the dark house before her, the only black spot in a wreath of brilliancy.  She did not see the face peering at her through the curtains, a face which scanned her own half wistfully.  What was to become of Miranda?  The little girl thrust the package under her ragged coat and ran away down the street as fast as her legs could take her.

“A thief!” cried Miss Terry.  “That is the climax.  I have detected a child taking what she knew did not belong to her, on Christmas Eve!  Where are all their Sunday School lessons and their social improvement classes?  I knew it!  This Christmas spirit that one hears so much about is nothing but an empty sham.  I have proved it to my satisfaction to-night.  I will burn the rest of these toys, every one of them, and then go to bed.  It is too disgusting!  She was a nice-looking child, too.  Poor old Miranda!”