“I wish you were my father, Mr. Winthrop,” I exclaimed, impulsively.

“Why so?”

“I might be able then to thank you in some comfortable fashion.”

“I understand what you mean, little one.  I told you once that I was not anxious to have you regard me in a filial way.”  Then turning the subject abruptly he said: 

“You can make all your arrangements regardless of any reasonable expense.  One may permit themselves to be a trifle generous and childish once a year.  If you see any more remarkable bargains, you can secure them and have a Christmas tree.  Have the goods charged to me.”

I did not attempt a reply.  My heart just then was too near bubbling over to permit speech to be safe or convenient.  I slipped quietly from the room.  I had a comfortable feeling that my guardian could actually read my thoughts, and knew how I regarded his act and himself.

I went directly to Mrs. Flaxman.  She entered cordially into my plans, but looked a good deal surprised when I told her it was Mr. Winthrop’s suggestion.

“I believe, dear, in your unselfish, impulsive way, you have taken the very wisest possible course with him.  I never hoped to see this day.”

“I believe it amuses him.  I have the impression that he is working me up into a book, only making me out more ridiculous than he ought.  You cannot imagine how I long, and yet dread to see the book.”

“But he does not write stories; so you need not be troubled about that.”

“He can write them if he chooses, and very clever ones too, I am certain.  He may be encouraging me to go on just to find out how it will all end, but I am only one in a universe full of souls; and if others, many others, get benefited, there will be far greater gain than loss.”

“That is the true, brave spirit to have, and the only kind that will bring genuine happiness.”

“Now to return to our festival.  Do you think cook will be willing to share her abundance with us?”

“Go and ask her, I do not think she will disappoint you.”

I went directly to the large, cheery kitchen, a favorite haunt of mine of late.  It was always so clean and homely, and cook was usually in a gracious mood and permitted me to assist in any of her culinary undertakings when I was so minded.

Among my other enterprises I had an ambition to become a practical housekeeper in case I might some day be married to a poor man, and have a family to bake and brew for with my own hands.

When I entered the kitchen I found her more than usually busy, with both Reynolds and Esmerelda pressed into the service.

“Shall we ever get all your dainties eaten?  Won’t they spoil on your hands?”

“I dare say some of them will; but Christmas time we expect a little to go to waste.”

“Don’t you give away some?” I asked.

“All that’s asked for.”

“I am so glad to hear it.  I want some ever so much.”