“It seems a pity to have all these things eat up, and get no good from ’em.  Now, I’d like to charge a trifle, and let every one come that wants to.”

“What would be done with the money?”

“There’s plenty of ways to spend it; but if I could have a say in the matter I’d like to give it to them poor little creatures I had for dinner Christmas.  The mother’s jest heart-broke.  I believe you could count their bones; leastways all of them that’s next the skin.  I railly thought I could not get them filled; but I did at last, and then they was stupid like, they’d been short of victuals so long.”

“Are their clothes as poor as their bodies?”

“Yes, indeed; and it does seem hard this cold weather for little children to have neither flesh nor flannels over the bones.”

“I am perfectly willing to make a small charge, if you can let it be known in time for the people to be prepared.”

“Oh, Dan’el and Mr. Bowen ’ll see to that.  Put up a notice in the mill and post-office; everybody ’ll find it out.”

So it was agreed that we should make the grown up folk pay something; but I insisted the price must not exceed twenty-five cents.

I went home to luncheon on Friday, very tired, but also very enthusiastic over our tree.  If I could secure Mr. Winthrop’s consent to a plain dinner, our entire domestic force could attend, and they were all eager to do so.  He and Mr. Bovyer were engaged in a warm discussion over some knotty subject as they entered the dining-room, thereby compelling me to leave my question for sometime unasked.  But Mr. Bovyer presently turned to me and said,

“Really, Miss Selwyn, you must think we have forgotten your existence.”

“Oh, no, indeed; but I should like you to converse on something within nearer range of my faculties for a little while.”

“We are all attention.”

I turned to Mr. Winthrop as he spoke: 

“Is it really imperative that you have a regular dinner to-day?  Could you not take something easily prepared, a cup of tea, for instance, and some cold meats, and the like?”

“You propose a genuine funeral repast.  Is anything about to happen?”

“Our Christmas tree; and our entire household is eager to go, yourself excepted.”

“Why can’t we all go?” Mr. Bovyer suggested, with considerable eagerness.

Mr. Winthrop looked aghast.

“They would think on the Mill Road the millennium was dawning if Mr. Winthrop were to step down among them,” I said.

“Then by all means let us foster the illusion.”

“I will take the baked meats, Medoline, or a cracker and cheese—­anything rather than that crowd.”

“That is ever so kind.  I will come home to brew you a cup of tea myself.  Ever since I was a child I have wanted to prepare a meal all alone—­it will be really better than the Christmas tree; I mean more enjoyable.”