after the choicest fancy of the architect, and furnished in all the
latest devices of household decoration. Pictures, statuettes, and every
form of _bijouterie_ make the room a miracle of beauty, and the little
princess of all sits in an easy chair before the fire, and thus revolves
with herself:

"O, dear me! Christmas is a bore! Such a rush and crush in the streets,
such a jam in the shops, and then _such_ a fuss thinking up presents for
everybody! All for nothing, too; for nobody Wants anything. I'm sure _I_
don't. I'm surfeited now with pictures and jewelry, and bon-bon boxes,
and little china dogs and cats--and all these things that get so thick
you can't move without upsetting some of them. There's papa, he don't
want anything. He never uses any of my Christmas presents when I get
them; and mamma, she has every earthly thing I can think of, and said the
other day she did hope nobody'd give her any more worsted work! Then Aunt
Maria and Uncle John, they don't want the things I give them; they have
more than they know what to do with, now. All the boys say they don't
want any more cigar cases or slippers, or smoking caps. Oh, dear!"

Here the Shining Ones came and stood over the little lady, and looked
down on her with faces of pity, which seemed blent with a serene and
half-amused indulgence. It was a heavenly amusement, such as that with
which mothers listen to the foolish-wise prattle of children just
learning to talk.

As the grave, sweet eyes rested tenderly on her, the girl somehow grew
graver, leaned back in her chair, and sighed a little.

"I wish I knew how to be better!" she said to herself. "I remember last
Sunday's text, 'It is more blessed to give than to receive.' That must