“Our morning’s work is not yet completed,” Mr. Winthrop said.  “Please excuse me a moment.”  He went into the library, and returning shortly, he went first to Mrs. Flaxman and gave her a good sized parcel.  I was waiting so eagerly to see her open it that I scarce thought if I, too, should be remembered; but after standing for a few seconds by the fire he came to my side and gave me a tiny box done up carelessly in a bit of paper.  I opened it, when the most beautiful diamond ring I ever saw glittered a moment after on my finger.

“Oh, Mr. Winthrop, is this really and truly mine?”

“Really and truly, yes.”

In my surprise and delight I lifted the ring to my lips and kissed it.

“That is the prettiest compliment paid to a gift I ever witnessed,” Mr. Bovyer said, with a smile.

“Medoline has her own way of doing things.  I find her refreshingly original.”

“That is almost better than the ring,” I murmured gratefully, looking up into his face.

“Shall we have breakfast served now?” He turned abruptly round and touched the bell.  I bethought me of Mrs. Flaxman and looked just in time to see her slipping off an elegant sealskin dolman, while her eyes looked very dewy and tender.

“Mr. Winthrop, you are making this Christmas-tide positively regal with your gifts.  So many of us that you have gladdened—­Mill Road folks and all,” I said, not able wholly to restrain my affectionate impulses as I laid my hand lightly on his—­the first time I had ever so touched him.

He folded his other hand over mine for an instant, and then we sat down to the breakfast which had just been brought in.

Mr. Winthrop and Mr. Bovyer spent the greater part of the day together alone.  After breakfast they took a long horseback ride across country, only reaching home in time for luncheon, and then Mr. Winthrop had some choice additions to his library to exhibit, that kept them employed until dinner.  Mrs. Flaxman smiled at the way Mr. Bovyer’s time was engrossed by my guardian, but I do not think either of us regretted it; for we had so many happy fancies of our own to dwell upon that the brief December day seemed all too short.  Just before dinner I went to the kitchen to see how Samuel was getting on with his timepiece, but found that he had been away all day.

“That watch of his has been more talked about in Cooper’s Lane, where his folks live, than anything else, I’ll warrant, this day,” Thomas assured me.  “He’ll be back soon.  The smell of dinner always fetches him home.”

We had scarce done speaking when I heard his step at the door, and presently he came in.  His watch-chain was arranged in most conspicuous fashion across his waistcoat, and caught the light very cheerfully as he stood near the lamp.

“What’s the time?” Thomas asked soberly; but Samuel was too smart to be so easily trapped.

“There’s the clock right afore your eyes.”