The boy looked at her with shining face, drew his hand across his eyes, and then answered brightly:  “Oh, that’s all right, Miss Marshay; ’tenny rate ’tis with me, ‘n’ I reckon ’tis with Him”—­and seizing his crutch, he hopped like a little sparrow through the door and onto the street, and she heard his boyish voice calling out:  “Evenin’ papers, last edishun—­all ’bout the big graft ’sposure.”

Just then the big white touring car discharged its merry load at the door, and the house was filled with the chatter and laughter of the children.  In vain she tried to find a quiet corner where she could be alone with her heart—­it was impossible to escape from the hilarious celebration of her birthday.  She was so glad when the children said good-night and went off to bed, and she could seek the quiet of her own room.

As she bade her father good night, he said:  “Well, daughter, I hope you have enjoyed your birthday and all your gifts?”

At this all the honesty of her nature, all the hatred of sham, rose up in one indignant outburst, and she exclaimed:  “I have had no gifts, neither has this been my birthday celebration.”

“Why, Marcia!” said her father in an aggrieved tone, “this certainly is your birthday, and we have been very happy in keeping it for love of you.”

“I have failed to see any manifestation of love to me,” retorted Marcia.  “You may have had a happy time, but I have not been in it; you have given gifts to one another, but I have had just one”—­and she held up the bunch of violets.  “This is a gift of love from little lame Joe, in answer to his prayer, and in pity for my hungry heart.”

There was silence in the room for a moment, and then her father answered:  “It seems to me, daughter, that when you get right down to a personal application, what you believe in after all is a ’white birthday’.”

The words went through her like an electric shock, and with a start she awoke, and sat upright in her chair; and, lo, it was all a dream!

Marcia looked around the room, shook herself a little, stirred the fire, and put on fresh coal.  She laughed at the remembrance of her dream, and its absurdity!  How glad she was that it was only a dream!  But was it only a dream?  Was it not a reality?  Was not this the way she had kept the Lord’s birthday?  When she had opened her Christmas treasure, how much had been given Him and for love of Him?  How large a place had she given Him in the season’s activity?  Had she ever made room for Him as the central figure of it all; or had he been crowded out, and His rightful place given to Santa Claus and the world’s merry-making?

In the light of the Spirit she saw that the Star of Bethlehem always leads to the cross of Calvary.  She had never liked to think about the cross before, but now it was all illumined with the glory of the love which gave to us God’s best, his only begotten Son.  She remembered how the Lord Jesus had said:  “If I be lifted up, I will draw all men unto Me.”  She saw that it is as we see Christ on the cross for us that we are drawn to Him.