passion whose magic beautifies the little milliner and her lad with
the same tender grace as the poet and the mistress whom he makes
immortal in a song. But neither friend nor lover came to Christie,
and she said to herself, with a sad sort of courage:

"I shall be solitary all my life, perhaps; so the sooner I make up
my mind to it, the easier it will be to bear."

At Christmas-tide she made a little festival for herself, by giving
to each of the household drudges the most generous gift she could
afford, for no one else thought of them, and having known some of
the hardships of servitude herself, she had much sympathy with those
in like case.

Then, with the pleasant recollection of two plain faces, brightened
by gratitude, surprise, and joy, she went out into the busy streets
to forget the solitude she left behind her.

Very gay they were with snow and sleigh-bells, holly-boughs, and
garlands, below, and Christmas sunshine in the winter sky above. All
faces shone, all voices had a cheery ring, and everybody stepped
briskly on errands of good-will. Up and down went Christie, making
herself happy in the happiness of others. Looking in at the
shop-windows, she watched, with interest, the purchases of busy
parents, calculating how best to fill the little socks hung up at
home, with a childish faith that never must be disappointed, no
matter how hard the times might be. She was glad to see so many
turkeys on their way to garnish hospitable tables, and hoped that
all the dear home circles might be found unbroken, though she had
place in none. No Christmas-tree went by leaving a whiff of piny