pictures, illustrating fairy tales, all in dull blue and gold and
scarlet and silver and other lovely colors. From the door to the
closet there was the story of "The Fair One with Golden Locks;"
from closet to bookcase, ran "Puss in Boots;" from bookcase to
fireplace, was "Jack the Giant-killer;" and on the other side of
the room were "Hop o' my Thumb," "The Sleeping Beauty," and
"Cinderella."

Then there was a great closet full of beautiful things to
wear--but they were all dressing-gowns and slippers and shawls;
and there were drawers full of toys and games; but they were such
as you could play with on your lap. There were no ninepins, nor
balls, nor bows and arrows, nor bean bags, nor tennis rackets;
but, after all, other children needed these more than Carol
Bird, for she was always happy and contented whatever she had or
whatever she lacked; and after the room had been made so lovely
for her, on her eighth Christmas, she always called herself, in
fun, a "Bird of Paradise."

On these particular December days she was happier than usual, for
Uncle Jack was coming from Europe to spend the holidays. Dear,
funny, jolly, loving, wise Uncle Jack, who came every two or
three years, and brought so much joy with him that the world
looked as black as a thunder-cloud for a week after he went away
again.

The mail had brought this letter:--

"LONDON, Nov. 28th, 188-.
Wish you merry Christmas, you dearest birdlings in America!