traps in order to find out what their governess would like best from
each of them, for they were fond of her in their way.

Also, Munich is one of the castles which King Christmas still holds in
absolute sway and calls his own, and long before he is really awake
after his long rest he begins to stir and laugh in his sleep, and the
jolly colour creeps up and spreads over his old cheeks before he thinks
of opening his eyes, much less of getting up and putting on his crown.
And now that he was waking, Helen Overholt felt the old loving longing
for her dear ones rising to her womanly heart, and she planned little
plans for another and a happier year to come, and meanwhile she bought
two or three little gifts to send to the cottage in far Connecticut.

But when she had read about the Berlin professor and his motor and
thought of her own John Henry making bricks without straw and bearing up
bravely against disappointment, and still writing so cheerfully and
hopefully in spite of everything, she simply could not stand it another
day. As I have said, King Christmas turned over just before waking, and
he put out a big generous hand in his sleep and laid it on her heart.
Whenever he does that to anybody, man, woman, or child, a splendid
longing seizes them to give all they have to the one child, or woman, or
man that each loves best, or to the being of all others that is most in
need, or to help the work which seems to each of them the noblest and
the best, if they are grown up and are lonely.

This is what happened to Helen Overholt, in spite of her good sense and
all her practical resolutions. As long as she had anything to give, John
Henry should have it and be happy, and succeed, if success were
possible. She had saved most of her salary for a long time past,
spending as little as she well could on herself. He should have it all,