Not so wonderful, perhaps, as it appeared to the simple girl. No
one but Katharine and her parents ever saw the letter that went
hurrying westward to remind her father that Christmas was coming,
and to tell him in what way she would prefer to take her present.
The secret was kept, and no thanks were ever spoken; but Katharine
cared for none. It was enough to watch the girl's happy content,
now that her one anxiety was removed. Mrs. Hapgood, alone, had a
suspicion, when Molly told her of the affair; but she wisely asked
no questions, and in silence rejoiced over the broader sympathy
her niece was daily gaining.

"How queer it is, the way things are divided up!" Katharine said
to Molly, one day when they were out driving.

It was a clear, cold December day, and Cob trotted briskly over
the frozen ground, as if he too, as well as the girls themselves,
were enjoying the air and motion.

"What is divided up?" asked Molly vaguely, rousing herself from a
half-formed plan for Alan's Christmas present.

"Oh, everything,--at least, everything isn't divided," returned
Katharine a little incoherently. "Some of us have so much more fun
out of things than other people do. There's us; and then there's
Bridget and that little pet of Polly's, Dicky what's-his-name. You
know the one I mean. And then, just in our set, there's ever so
much difference. Jessie and I have everything we want, and Jean
has to pinch and scrimp; Jean is as strong as a bear, and Alan
can't do anything at all, without being laid up to pay for it;
Polly wails for a family of young brothers, and Jean has more of