LITMIR.BIZ

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well enough.”

      “Nonsense!” said Mrs. Ross, but less unkindly. “The fingers would freeze off you. Don’t be a goose.”

      “It’s all right,” persisted Bertie. “I don’t need them — much. And William John doesn’t hardly ever get out.”

      He thrust them into her hand and ran quickly down the street, as though he feared that the keen air might make him change his mind in spite of himself. He had to stop a great many times that day to breathe on his purple hands. Still, he did not regret having lent his mittens to William John — poor, pale, sickly little William John, who had so few pleasures.

      It was sunset when Bertie laid an armful of parcels down on the steps of Doctor Forbes’s handsome house. His back was turned towards the big bay window at one side, and he was busy trying to warm his hands, so he did not see the two small faces looking at him through the frosty panes.

      “Just look at that poor little boy, Amy,” said the taller of the two. “He is almost frozen, I believe. Why doesn’t Caroline hurry and open the door?”

      “There she goes now,” said Amy. “Edie, couldn’t we coax her to let him come in and get warm? He looks so cold.” And she drew her sister out into the hall, where the housekeeper was taking Bertie’s parcels.

      “Caroline,” whispered Edith timidly, “please tell that poor little fellow to come in and get warm — he looks very cold.”

      “He’s used to the cold, I warrant you,” said the housekeeper rather impatiently. “It won’t hurt him.”

      “But it is Christmas week,” said Edith gravely, “and you know, Caroline, when Mamma was here she used to say that we ought to be particularly thoughtful of others who were not so happy or well-off as we were at this time.”

      Perhaps Edith’s reference to her mother softened Caroline, for she turned to Bertie and said cordially enough, “Come in, and warm yourself before you go. It’s a cold day.”

      Bertie shyly followed her to the kitchen.

      “Sit up to the fire,” said Caroline, placing a chair for him, while Edith and Amy came round to the other side of the stove and watched him with friendly interest.

      “What’s your name?” asked Caroline.

      “Robert Ross, ma’am.”

      “Oh, you’re Mrs. Ross’s nephew then,” said Caroline, breaking eggs into her cake-bowl, and whisking them deftly round. “And you’re Sampson’s errand boy just now? My goodness,” as the boy spread his blue hands over the fire, “where are your mittens, child? You’re never out without mittens a day like this!”

      “I lent them to William John — he hadn’t any,” faltered Bertie. He did not know but that the lady might consider it a grave crime to be mittenless.

      “No mittens!” exclaimed Amy in dismay. “Why, I have three pairs. And who is William John?”

      “He is my cousin,” said Bertie. “And he’s awful sickly. He wanted to go out to play, and he hadn’t any mittens, so I lent him mine. I didn’t miss them — much.”

      “What kind of a Christmas did you have?”

      “We didn’t have any.”

      “No Christmas!” said Amy, quite overcome. “Oh, well, I suppose you are going to have a good time on New Year’s instead.”

      Bertie shook his head.

      “No’m, I guess not. We never have it different from other times.”

      Amy was silent from sheer amazement. Edith understood better, and she changed the subject.

      “Have you any brothers or sisters, Bertie?”

      “No’m,” returned Bertie cheerfully. “I guess there’s enough of us without that. I must be going now. I’m very much obliged to you.”

      Edith slipped from the room as he spoke, and met him again at the door. She held out a pair of warm-looking mittens.

      “These are for William John,” she said simply, “so that you can have your own. They are a pair of mine which are too big for me. I know Papa will say it is all right. Goodbye, Bertie.”

      “Goodbye — and thank you,” stammered Bertie, as the door closed. Then he hastened home to William John.

      That evening Doctor Forbes noticed a peculiarly thoughtful look on Edith’s face as she sat gazing into the glowing coal fire after dinner. He laid his hand on her dark curls inquiringly.

      “What are you musing over?”

      “There was a little boy here today,” began Edith.

      “Oh, such a dear little boy,” broke in Amy eagerly from the corner, where she was playing with her kitten. “His name was Bertie Ross. He brought up the parcels, and we asked him in to get warm. He had no mittens, and his hands were almost frozen. And, oh, Papa, just think! — he said he never had any Christmas or New Year at all.”

      “Poor little fellow!” said the doctor. “I’ve heard of him; a pretty hard time he has of it, I think.”

      “He was so pretty, Papa. And Edie gave him her blue mittens for William John.”

      “The plot deepens. Who is William John?”

      “Oh, a cousin or something, didn’t he say Edie? Anyway, he is sick, and he wanted to go coasting, and Bertie gave him his mittens. And I suppose he never had any Christmas either.”

      “There are plenty who haven’t,” said the doctor, taking up his paper with a sigh. “Well, girlies, you seem interested in this little fellow so, if you like, you may invite him and his cousin to take dinner with you on New Year’s night.”

      “Oh, Papa!” said Edith, her eyes shining like stars.

      The doctor laughed. “Write him a nice little note of invitation — you are the lady of the house, you know — and I’ll see that he gets it tomorrow.”

      And this was how it came to pass that Bertie received the next day his first invitation to dine out. He read the little note through three times in order fully to take in its contents, and then went around the rest of the day in deep abstraction as though he was trying to decide some very important question. It was with the same expression that he opened the door at home in the evening. His aunt was stirring some oatmeal mush on the stove.

      “Is that you, Bert?” She spoke sharply. She always spoke sharply, even when not intending it; it had grown to be a habit.

      “Yes’m,” said Bertie meekly, as he hung up his cap.

      “I s’pose you’ve only got one day more at the store,” said Mrs. Ross. “Sampson didn’t say anything about keeping you longer, did he?”

      “No. He said he couldn’t — I asked him.”

      “Well, I didn’t expect he would. You’ll have a holiday on New Year’s anyhow; whether you’ll have anything to eat or not is a different question.”

      “I’ve an invitation to dinner,” said Bertie timidly, “me and William John. It’s from Doctor Forbes’s little girls — the ones that gave me the mittens.”

      He handed her the little note, and Mrs. Ross stooped down and read it by the fitful gleam of light which came from the cracked stove.

      “Well, you can please yourself,” she said as she handed it back, “but William John couldn’t go if he had ten invitations. He caught cold coasting yesterday. I told him he would, but he was bound to go, and now he’s laid up for a week. Listen to him barking in the bedroom there.”

      “Well, then, I won’t go either,” said Bertie with a sigh, it might be of relief, or it might be of disappointment. “I wouldn’t go there all alone.”

      “You’re

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