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       MARY RETURNS THE DOLL

      Miss Terry did not take the doll.

      "I am Angelina," she said. "The doll was mine."

      "You! Angelina!" the child's face was full of bewilderment. Mechanically she drew Miranda to her and clasped her close.

      "Yes, I am Angelina, and that was my doll Miranda," said Miss Terry gently. "Thank you for returning her. But Mary,—your name is Mary?" The child nodded.—"Suppose I wanted you to keep her for me, what would you say?"

      Mary's eyes still dwelt upon Miss Terry with a puzzled look. This gray-haired Angelina was so different from the one she had pictured. She did not answer the question. Miss Terry drew the child to a chair beside her.

      "Tell me all about yourself, Mary," she said.

      After some coaxing and prompting from what they already guessed, Mary told the story of her sad little life.

      She was an orphan recently left to the care of her uncle and aunt, who had received her grudgingly. They were her sole relatives; and the shame of their degraded lives was plain through the outlines of the vague picture which Mary sketched of them.

      "You do not love them, Mary?" asked Miss Terry kindly.

      "No," answered the child. "They always speak crossly to me. When they have been drinking they beat me."

      Tom rose from the table with a muttered word and began to pace the floor. His blue eyes were full of tears.

      "Mary," said Miss Terry, "will the people at home be worried if you do not come back to dinner?"

      Mary shook her head wonderingly. "No," she said. "They will not care. I am often away on holidays. I go to the Museums."

      "Then I want you to stay with us to-day," said Miss Terry. "We are going to have a Christmas celebration, and we need you for a guest. Will you stay, you and Miranda?"

      Mary looked down at the doll in her arms, and up at the two kind faces bent toward her. "Yes," she said impulsively, "I will stay. How good you are! I don't want to go home."

      "Don't go home!" burst out Tom. "Stay with us always and be our little girl."

      Mary looked from one to the other, half frightened at the new idea. Miss Terry bent and pecked at her cheek, with a thrill at the new sensation.

      "Yes, we mean it," she said, and her voice was almost sweet. "We believe that the Christmas Angel has brought you to us, Mary. You have the Christmas name. But you seem to us like the little girl we both knew best, little Angelina with blue eyes and yellow hair, who was Miranda's mother. Will you stay with us, Mary Angelina? Would you like to stay?"

      Mary looked up with a wistful smile. "You are so good!" she said again. "I wish I could stay. But Uncle and Aunt are so—I am afraid of what they might do to us all. If they thought you wanted me, they would not let me go."

      "I will fix Uncle and Aunt," said Tom, going for his coat. "Leave them to me. I know an argument that settles uncles and aunts of that sort. You need not go back to their house, I promise you, Mary, my dear."

      Mary gave a great sigh of relief. "Oh, I am so glad!" she said. "It was such a wicked house. And here it is so good!"

      "Good!" Miss Terry echoed the word with a sigh. "Come with me, Mary," she said.

      She led her little guest through the hall to the library, where a great fire was blazing, with sundry mysterious packages in white paper piled on the table beside it. But Miss Terry did not stop at the fire-place. She drew Mary to the window which looked out on the sidewalk. Above the lower sash Mary saw the remains of a burned-out Christmas candle; and over it hung a pink papier-mâché Angel stretching out open arms towards her.

      "This is the Christmas Angel, Mary," said Miss Terry. "He is as old as Miranda—"

      "He is as old as Christmas," interrupted Tom, looking in from the hall.

      "When we were children, Tom and I, we hung him on our Christmas tree," went on Miss Terry. "We think he brought you to us. We believe he has changed the world for us,—has brought us peace, good-will, and happiness. He is going to be the guardian angel of our house. You must love him, Mary."

      "How beautiful he is!" said Mary reverently. "His face shines like the Baby's that I saw once in the Church. Oh, Miss Angelina! He is like the Christ-Child himself!"

      "Call me Aunt Angelina," said Miss Terry with a quick breath.

      "Aunt Angelina," cried the child, throwing her arms about Miss Terry's neck.

      Tom came and put his great furry coat-sleeves about them both. "And Uncle Tom," he said.

      "Dear Uncle Tom!" whispered the child shyly.

      There were tears in the eyes of all three.

      "Now we shall live happy ever after," said Tom.

      And the Christmas Angel beamed upon them.

      The Tale of Peter Rabbit

      (Beatrix Potter)

       Table of Contents

      Once upon a time there were four little Rabbits, and their names were—

       Flopsy,

       Mopsy,

       Cotton-tail,

       and Peter.

      They lived with their Mother in a sand-bank, underneath the root of a very big fir-tree.

      'Now my dears,' said old Mrs. Rabbit one morning, 'you may go into the fields or down the lane, but don't go into Mr. McGregor's garden: your Father had an accident there; he was put in a pie by Mrs. McGregor.'

      'Now run along, and don't get into mischief. I am going out.'

      Then old Mrs. Rabbit took a basket and her umbrella, and went through the wood to the baker's. She bought a loaf of brown bread and five currant buns.

      Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cotton-tail, who were good little bunnies, went down the lane to gather blackberries:

      But

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