though we were ill. Is it all done now?" asked Jill, when the last
parcel was tied on and everybody stood back to admire the pretty
sight.

"One thing more. Hand me that box, Frank, and be very careful
that you fasten this up firmly, Ralph," answered Mrs. Minot, as she
took from its wrappings the waxen figure of a little child. The rosy
limbs were very life-like, so was the smiling face under the locks
of shining hair. Both plump arms were outspread as if to scatter
blessings over all, and downy wings seemed to flutter from the
dimpled shoulders, making an angel of the baby.

"Is it St. Nicholas?" asked Jill, who had never seen that famous
personage, and knew but little of Christmas festivities.

"It is the Christ-child, whose birthday we are celebrating. I got the
best I could find, for I like the idea better than old Santa Claus;
though we _may_ have him, too," said Mamma, holding the little
image so that both could see it well.

"It looks like a real baby;" and Jack touched the rosy foot with the
tip of his finger, as if expecting a crow from the half-open lips.

"It reminds me of the saints in the chapel of the Sacred Heart in
Montreal. One little St. John looked like this, only he had a lamb
instead of wings," said Jill, stroking the flaxen hair, and wishing
she dared ask for it to play with.

"He is the children's saint to pray to, love, and imitate, for he never
forgot them, but blessed and healed and taught them all his life.