Jim’s eyes flashed.  “Not yet, ma!” he said, firmly.  “It ’ud be with us like it was with the Hornbys; they didn’t have nothin’ to eat, and they went to the organization ant the man asted ’em if they had a bed or a table, an’ when they said yes, he said, ’Well, why don’t you sell ’em?’ No, ma!  As long as we’ve got coal I’ll git the vittles some way!” He had to pause, for a violent attack of coughing shook him from head to foot.  “I think I can git a night job next week; one of the market-men comes in from the country ever’ night to git a early start next morning an’ he ast me if I’d sleep in his wagon from three to six an’ keep his vegetables from bein’ stole.  That ‘ud gimme time to git home an’ git breakfast, an’ be down to the fact’ry by seven.”

“But, Jimmy boy,” cried his mother, her voice quivering with anxiety, “you never could stan’ it night an’ day too!  No, I’ll watch the wagon; I’ll—­”

A knock on the parlor door interrupted her. she hastily dried her eyes and smoothed her hair.  Jim went to the door.

“I’ve a Christmas basket for you!” cried a cheery voice.

“Is this Christmas?” Jim asked dully.

The girl in the doorway laughed.  She was tall and slender, but Jim could only see a pair of sparkling eyes between the brim of the hat and her high fur collar.  It was nice to hear her laugh, though; it made things seem warmer somehow.  The colored man behind her deposited a large basket on the doorstep.

“It’s from the church,” she explained; “a crowd of us are out in the omnibus distributing baskets.”

“Well, how’d you ever happen to come here?” cried Mrs. Wiggs, who had come to the door.

“There is one for each of the mission-school families; just a little Christmas greeting, you know.”

Mrs. Wiggs’s spirits were rising every minute.  “Well, that certainly is kind an’ thoughtful like,” she said.  “Won’t you—­” she hesitated; the room she had just left was not in a condition to receive guests, but Mrs. Wiggs was a Kentuckian.  “Come right in an’ git warm,” she said cordially; “the stove’s died down some, but you could git thawed out.”

“No. thank you, I can’t come in,” said the young lady, with a side glance at Jim, who was leaning against the door.  “Have you plenty of coal?” she asked, in an undertone.

“Oh, yes’m, thank you,” said Mrs. Wiggs, smiling reassuringly.  Her tone might have been less confident, but for Jim’s warning glance.  Every fiber of his sensitive nature shrank from asking help.

The girl was puzzled; she noticed the stamp of poverty on everything in sight except the bright face of the little woman before her.

“Well,” she said doubtfully, “if you ever want—­to come to see me, ask for Miss Lucy Olcott at Terrace Park.  Good night, and a happy Christmas!”

She was gone, and the doorway looked very black and lonesome in consequence.  But there was the big basket to prove she was not merely an apparition, and it took both Jim and his mother to carry it in.  Sitting on the floor, they unpacked it.  There were vegetables, oatmeal, fruit, and even tea and coffee.  But the surprise was at the very bottom!  A big turkey, looking so comical with his legs stuck in his body that Jim laughed outright.