logue and the new bell and the way teacher talked and looked. At Edie's he turned in with Johnnie and practised for the Sunday-school Christmas-tree, and then went home. The sleigh-tracks were deep and not yet well worn, and he stumbled a great deal. Once he fell, and the cover of his dinner-pail flew off. On one side the big ten-acre lot stretched away to the brush; on the other, Uncle Anthony's meadow away to his woods. Both were as white as white could be, with nowhere a fold or a streak. The sun was beginning to redden and was almost down. He saw fresh smoke gently rising from the kitchen chimney at home, and knew his mother had just started the fire for supper. He saw the woodshed door open and his father come out with the bushel-basketful of beets on his shoulder and start for the barn and the chores. A sleigh came jingling by, and went out of sight over the hill toward the depot, and then it was all so quiet and still that he was the only moving object in the landscape, and his feet crunching the snow the only sound in nature.

When he got home, his mother had just opened the woodshed door, and was standing there in it, looking out over the fields to the brush and the woods.

"Just come here," she said. "Did you ever in all your life see anything so peaceful? Not a sound or a motion anywhere."

They stood a minute or two, listening to the silence and looking at the great white blanket of snow. The sky was clear and frosty and calm as far as they could

see.

"I hope it 'll be as calm and peaceful as this to-morrow," said the little boy's mother. "Then it will be a day of peace on earth and good will toward men. I always like a white Christmas eve."

The little boy went to sleep that night saying over his piece and the words of the song he was to sing at the Christmastree. "They say if you go over anything just before you go to sleep," his mother had told him, "you 'll remember it a great deal better." He dreamed fantastic things. Edie was playing for him and Johnnie at

the tree, and the organ changed into a big silver bell, with teacher standing there. The tree was stripped of presents, and there had been none for him. He awoke disconsolate, and was still uneasy when he went down-stairs and had breakfast.

His mother was standing at the south window.

"Come here and look out," she said. "It's just as we wanted it to be, all clear and sparkling everywhere."

The little boy looked at her and at his father. They did not look as if they were in the least thinking of presents.

Somehow or other the day passed. The little boy was restless. He went to the barn and back a great many times; he helped his mother with the dinner at noon, setting the chairs around and scouring the knives and forks and spoons; he went down at two to get the mail; at four he went up to Edie's and practised; before going home he went over to see Tip. Tip said he had seen them bring the tree.

"My! but it's a whopper," he said, with his eyes big. "I bet it 'Il touch the ceilin'. Pa says it 's, anyhow, fifteen feet.

The little boy wished he could see it; but that was out of the question, he knew very well. He looked at the church as he went by on his way home. The windows were blazing with red reflected sunlight. He thought once more of the coming ordeal of the lights and the warmth and the faces and the eyes. Somehow he did n't feel so very much afraid.

He came to the crest of the hill in front of Edie's from where you could always. see so far, and stopped a second to listen for sleigh-bells, thinking he might get a ride. From where he stood to far across the valley, where hills and woods rose to meet the sky, nothing was to be seen but white snow and dark trees and houses and barns with snow-covered roofs. Nothing marred the silence; he sped down the hill saying over the piece.

He did n't eat much supper. They all got through early, and he helped his mother clear away the things while his father and brother were out finishing the chores. Then he got his Sunday suit on,

with a fresh paper collar and his little red tie, and his mother went over his face and slicked his hair once more, and they started. The sky was deep, dark blue, almost purple, and every star was out. He remembered something about "The spangled heavens, a shining frame" that they sang in a hymn sometimes. A sleigh or two passed them, and the bells and the voices kept coming back till they turned in at the church.

It was early, but people were going in. The windows were bright, and the light flashed out of the opening and closing door. The little boy went up the steps nerving himself and trying to say the piece

over once more.

Inside they were already crowding. The little boy and his father and mother stood a moment before going out from behind the screen that was just inside the door.

"Let me have your comforter and cap," she said. She leaned over and slicked his hair with her hand, and then leaned farther and whispered in his ear, "Now don't be afraid, but open your mouth and speak right up good and loud." She gave him a gentle push around the end of the

screen.

What warmth and brightness! The seats were nearly all filled. What a lot of heads! He had a sudden imagination of the faces and eyes again, with a terrible fear that he never could do it.

But there was the tree! He forgot everything else. It reached to the very ceiling, a silver star at the tiptop; its dark branches reaching out in every direction, outward and upward; and all festooned and brilliant with strings of red and silver and gold and popcorn, and netting-bags of peanuts and candy, pink bags and yellow bags and red bags; and striped candy canes, and glistening, heavy oranges that made the twigs droop; and candles of every color, not yet lighted; and mittens and ties and suspenders and handkerchiefs and comforters and ribbons, and little packages of every shape, and dolls of every size and color; and big presents all around the bottom and on the plat

form; and near the top, reaching from side to side of the church in big, shiny gold letters, A MERRY CHRISTMAS, and under it ON EARTH PEACE, GOOD WILL TOWARD MEN.

For a moment the vision filled his entire being. He stood stock-still till his mother gave him another gentle push. Then he started up the aisle toward where Edie and Johnnie were already sitting with the big boys and girls in the choir. Edie caught his eye. He looked straight at her, and made the long transit of fifty feet or so with burning face, feeling all the eyes in the room fixed on him alone. Only when he was safe in his seat at Edie's side did he dare to look up. To his surprise, almost nobody was noticing; all were gazing at the tree, and thinking of nothing else. It gave him courage.

The seats were all full, and the aisles began to fill. Of a sudden a brisker opening and closing of the door than usual disturbed the standing throng about the screen, and the minister emerged, furcoated and frosty from the ten-mile drive from his other charge. The whispering and gossiping died away. Up the aisle he came, wiping the ice from his long brown whiskers and mustache, stripped off the big fur coat and laid it down, and knelt a few moments before the tree; then got up and took a seat beside 'Lije's father, crossed his legs, and scanned the audience. After a while he turned his head toward 'Lije's father. 'Lije's father leaned over, and the minister whispered something in his ear. 'Lije's father nodded, and the minister got up with a hymn-book.

First the choir and all the people sang "Coronation." Then the minister went up on the platform and got down on his knees and prayed. He was right under the long branches that reached out so far. The little boy covered his eyes, but he knew just how the minister looked, with his face turned toward the people, his eyes shut, and his long brown whiskers reaching down to his knee. He drew out his words and groaned, and prayed a long time. The little boy did n't see the use. He wished he would get through; and