Billy Potter disappeared for a moment and came in, presently, the most chubby and pink-faced and blue-eyed of Santa Clauses, in purple velvet trimmed with ermine, with long white hair and a long white beard.

I can’t begin to name to you all the fruits of that magic tree.  From Maida, there came to Rosie a big golden cage with a pair of canary birds, to Arthur a chest of wonderful tools, to Dicky a little bookcase full of beautiful books, to Laura a collection of sashes and ribbons, to Harold a long train of cars.  For Molly, Betsy and the Clark twins came so many gifts that you could hardly count them all—­dolls and dolls’ wardrobes, tiny doll-houses and tinier doll-furniture.  For Tim came a sled and bicycle.

To Maida came a wonderful set of paper boxes from Dicky, a long necklace of carved beads from Arthur, a beautiful blank-book, with all her candy recipes, beautifully written out, from Rosie, a warm little pair of knitted bed-shoes from Granny, a quaint, little, old-fashioned locket from Dr. Pierce—­he said it had once belonged to another little sick girl who died.

From Billy came a book.  Perhaps you can fancy how Maida jumped when she read “The Crystal Ball,” by William Potter, on the cover.  But I do not think you can imagine how pleased she looked when inside she read the printed dedication, “To Petronilla.”

From her father came a beautiful miniature of her mother, painted on ivory.  The children crowded about her to see the beautiful face of which Maida had told them so much.  There was the mass of golden hair which she had described so proudly.  There, too, was a heart-shaped pendant of diamonds, suspended from a black velvet ribbon tied close to the white throat.

The children looked at the picture.  Then they looked at each other.

But Maida did not notice.  She was watching eagerly while Dr. Pierce and Billy and her father opened her gifts to them.

She was afraid they would not understand.  “They’re to save time, you see, when you want to shave in a hurry,” she explained.

“Maida,” her father said gravely, “that is a very thoughtful gift.  It’s strange when you come to think of it, as busy a man as I am and with all the friends I have, nobody has ever thought to give me a safety razor.”

“I don’t know how I ever managed to get along without one,” Dr. Pierce declared, his curls bobbing.

“As for me—­I shall probably save about a third of my income in the future,” Billy announced.

All three were so pleased that they laughed for a long time.

“I’m going to give you another Christmas present, Maida,” Mr. Westabrook said suddenly, “I’m going to give us both one—­a vacation.  We’re going to start for Europe, week after next.”

“Oh, papa, papa, how lovely!” Maida said.  “Shall we see Venice again?  But how can I give up my little shop and my friends?”

“Maida going away!” the children exclaimed.  “Oh, dear! oh, dear!” “But Mr. Westabrook, isn’t Maida coming back again?” Rosie asked.  “How I shall miss her!” Laura chimed in.