“I have no home, and the shops are all closed,” she said, brushing the wet snow from her hair.

“No home!” exclaimed the lady, incredulously, “and the world is overflowing with wealth and has homes innumerable.  Is it possible that the world’s goods are so unevenly divided?”

The girl began to cry.

“Come and have your Christmas dinner with us,” said the lady.

The girl, still weeping, followed in her utter innocence and helplessness.

Ding-dong, went the merry bells.  Tramp, tramp, went the feet of the big, voluptuous world.  Honk, honk, went the horns of the automobiles; for it was Christmas, and all went merry as a marriage bell.

The fire was burning brightly.  The room was warm and cozy.  The house was clean, tidy, and cheery.  It was a dazzling scene to one who had been accustomed to the cold, bare, concrete pavements only.

“My!” exclaimed the girl as they entered.  It was a perfect fairyland to her.  It was a story.  It was a dream.

“Now, we are going to have the realest, cutest, Christmas dinner you ever saw,” said the lady, producing a steaming turkey from the warming oven.  The girl danced in her glee and anticipation.  “But first you must dress for dinner.  We will go and see Santa Claus,” smiled the foster-mother.  She retired with a waif, and returned with a fairy, and they sat down to a fairy dinner.

“What a spotless tablecloth!  What clean cups and saucers, and plates and dishes!  What shining knives and forks!  What kind friends!” thought the orphan.  “I had no idea such things existed outside of Heaven,” she exclaimed aloud in her rapture.

“It is all very commonplace, I assure you,” said the man, “but it takes money to buy them.”

“And yet,” philosophized the lady, “if we are dissatisfied in our prosperity, what must a life be that contains nothing?”

Ding-dong, went the bells.  Tramp, tramp, went the feet of the big world outside.  Honk, honk, went the horn of the automobile; but the happiest heart of them all was the little waif who had been, until now, so lonely, so cold, so hungry, so neglected.  They were the happiest moments in her whole life.  Her time began from that day.  But that is many years ago.  The orphan is a lady now in Vancouver; and every Christmas she gives a dinner to some poor people in honor of those who adopted her and saved her from the slums.

Of the Retreat from Moscow

Once upon a time four Ashcroft Napoleons, known locally as “Father,” “Deacon,” “Cyclone,” and “Skookum,” invaded Vancouver to demonstrate at an inter-provincial curling bonspiel that was arranged to take place at that city.  Their object was to bring home as many prizes and trophies as they could conveniently carry without having to pay “excess baggage,” and donate the balance to charity.  It was decided later not to take any of the prizes, as it was more blessed to give than to receive, and they did not only give away all the trophies, but they gave away all the games as well—­games they had a legitimate mortgage on—­and they were glad to see the other fellows happy.