ON Christmas day Lucy Olcott stood by the library window, and idly
scratched initials on the frosty pane. A table full of beautiful
gifts stood near, and a great bunch of long-stemmed roses on the
piano filled the room with fragrance. But Lucy evidently found
something more congenial in the dreary view outside. She was deep in
thought when the door opened and Aunt Chloe came in with a basket
and a note.

The old darky grinned as she put the basket on the floor. "You might
'a' knowed, it wuz fum dem Wiggses," she said.

Lucy opened the note and read: "Dear miss Lucy the basket of cloths
and vittles come. We or so mutch obliged, and asia wore the read
dress to the soshul and enjoyed her selph so. Much I wish you could
a went. Billy liked his hock and ladar and romcandons. Me and the
childern want to send you a crismas mess of some of all we lade in
for to live on. They is pertaters 2 kines, onions, termaters, a jar
vineger and a jar perservs. I boughten the peeches last sumer, they
was gitting a little rotting so I got them cheep. Hope you will
Enjoy them. I send some of all we got but Cole and Flower. Thankes
thankes to you for your kind fealings. "From yours no more "MRS.
WIGGS."

"Bless her old heart!" cried Lucy; "that's the biggest widow's mite
I ever saw. Put the basket there with my other presents, Aunt Chloe;
it's worth them all."

She went over to the fire, and held her hands to the friendly blaze;
there was a restless, discontented look in her eyes that proved only
too plainly that her Christmas was not a happy one.