CHAPTER VIIGRAY OWL, SANTA CLAUS

“Sing, Christmas bells!Sing to all men,—the bond, the free,The rich, the poor, the high, the low,The little child that sports in glee,The aged folk that tottering go,—Proclaim the mornThat Christ is bornThat saveth them and saveth me!”

“Sing, Christmas bells!

Sing to all men,—the bond, the free,

The rich, the poor, the high, the low,

The little child that sports in glee,

The aged folk that tottering go,—

Proclaim the morn

That Christ is born

That saveth them and saveth me!”

“Blessed are they who still dream and wonder and believe.”

CHRISTMAS! Everything told it. The feeling of it was in the air. The snow which lay lightly and deeply upon ground and trees, the icicles which hung in long glittering pendants, the clear, bright blue sky, the brisk, lively, sunshiny cold,—all told of Christmas. The air was the Christmas air, stirring the heart-beats. The sounds were Christmas sounds,—the merry calling out of Christmas greetings, the glad ringing of the church bells.

The Christmas Makers’ Club was all ready to enjoy Christmas day to the utmost. Mysterious packages for the Christmas-tree had arrived atMrs. Danforth’s house all day Thursday and had been taken charge of by Cummings, the maid, who seemed suddenly to have forgotten her stiffness and to have become more like other people. The Club had held an important business meeting at Miss Ruth Warren’s house Thursday afternoon and had made everything ready for the visit to the Convalescent Home on Christmas morning. The twenty-four dolls which the Club had dressed and the twelve rag dolls of Mrs. Holt’s making—which even Betty, who had scorned rag dolls, declared were full prettier than the others—had been carefully placed in a large, flat basket. The paper dolls and the tin soldiers were in boxes by themselves, and the twelve tops which Ben had made were also ready to be given to the Convalescent children.

Elsa Danforth had told the Club that her Uncle Ned was very anxious to go to the Convalescent Home with them, and it had been decided that there would be plenty of room for him, also, in Ben’s large double sleigh, as he could sit on the front seat with Ben and little Alice, while Miss Ruth, Betty and Elsa occupied the back seat.

Best of all, at this business meeting, the children had delivered to their Club president, Miss Ruth,the united sum of five dollars and sixty cents which they had earned, in the past two weeks, to give to the managers of the Convalescent Home. There was one dollar and forty cents from Betty White, who had earned five cents a day for emptying waste paper baskets in her own home and for blacking her father’s shoes—never were shoes better blacked, Mr. White declared, boastfully; there were two dollars from Elsa, whose Uncle Ned had paid her just as he promised he would for writing two letters each week, although he had been in Berkeley the past week, and who had also paid her a dollar for copying a long piece of writing for him; there were seventy cents from little Alice, earned by washing dishes for her mother; and, lastly, Ben, who had entered heartily in this plan for earning money, had given a dollar and a half as his share, earned by shovelling snow and doing errands for the neighbours. After considerable thinking, Ben had decided to give to his mother the whole amount of the three dollars and a half which Mr. Danforth had paid him for seven hours’ help; and on Christmas morning Mrs. Holt had been deeply touched by the gift of money from her devoted little son.

Betty’s dollar and forty cents, Elsa’s two dollars,Alice’s seventy cents, and Ben’s dollar and a half, made the good round sum of five dollars and sixty cents which the Club had earned for the Convalescent Home; and when the boy of the Club had handed the full amount in silver to the president, the Club members had felt well repaid for all their work by seeing her great surprise and delight.

“Nothing which you could have done would have pleased me more than this, children,” Miss Ruth said warmly. “I know that the money will be a most welcome gift to the Convalescent Home and be ever so much help.”

“Will the Club have its name printed?” Betty inquired anxiously.

“Yes, I am sure the managers of the Home will want to mention the name of the Club and the gift in their annual report,” Miss Ruth answered.

“How will it sound, please?” Alice asked.

“Something like this: ‘From the Christmas Makers’ Club of Berkeley, $5.60; also dolls, tops, and toys.’”

“Perhaps it will interest other children to do things for the little Convalescings,” Ben suggested.

“We are going to earn some more money for them when we have our Easter Club,” Elsa said delightedly; “we must truly have that Easter Club!”

“Won’t it be fun to see the little children at the Convalescent Home to-morrow morning when we give them all the things we have for them?” Betty cried out, enthusiastically, as the Club ended its important business meeting on Thursday afternoon, impatient for the next day to come.

And so on this bright morning of the glad Christmas day, Ben drove around to Washington Avenue at the appointed hour. He had washed the sleigh and brushed Jerry until both fairly shone, and had given the old horse some extra oats. Alice was perched up beside her brother on the front seat, looking the picture of rosy-cheeked happiness.

First of all, Ben stopped at the Danforth house, to call for Elsa and her uncle. Meanwhile, Betty, who had been watching for the arrival of the sleigh, came running out from her own home, with her brown hair and her blue capes flying, to wish the twins a “Merry Christmas!” first; so she jumped into the back seat of the sleigh without waiting to be called for. Mr. Danforth helped Elsa into the back seat, and then walked the short distance to the Warren house, for Miss Ruth was the only one now remaining to join the party.

But at Miss Ruth’s house a great disappointmentawaited the Club, and all on account of Miss Virginia Warren.

Miss Virginia’s cold was better, but her nervousness had greatly increased. She had never in her life had a trained nurse, and much as she wanted one to take care of her and wait upon her, she felt that it might prove so exciting as to have a very bad effect upon her, especially at first. It had been arranged that Bettina March should arrive at noon on Christmas day; and Ruth Warren would be back from the Convalescent Home an hour before that time. But Miss Virginia had decided that she could not possibly stay alone that morning, nor have anybody except her niece, not even Sarah Judd, stay with her.

From breakfast time on, Miss Virginia grew more and more uneasy. At last, just before it was time for Ruth to put on her coat and be ready to start with the Club, Miss Virginia began crying and wringing her large white hands.

“I am sorry, Ruth, to have you give up going to the Convalescent Home with the children,” Aunt Virginia said, tearfully, “but I don’t feel well enough to have you leave me. You know we are all supposed to be happier by making Christmashappier for somebody else, so I am sure you will be glad to stay with me.” Miss Virginia looked up at her niece with a very helpless and resigned expression. Her tears had ceased, but she kept on wringing her hands in a limp way.

Ruth Warren was keenly disappointed. She knew that her aunt could stay alone for an hour perfectly well; but she could not go with any pleasure now, after her aunt had asked her to stay at home.

When the merry sleighful stopped in front of the house, Ruth Warren herself answered the ring at the front door in order not to delay the party. Mr. Danforth had told Ben that he would call for Miss Warren and bring out the basket and boxes, so that Ben might stay in the sleigh and hold Jerry, who, Ben said, might feel extra lively on Christmas morning and run away with his precious load!

Accordingly, when Ruth Warren opened the door, there stood before her Elsa’s tall, broad-shouldered uncle with clear gray eyes, steady in an open, moustached face, who looked squarely at her while he said with almost a boy’s earnestness:“Merry Christmas, Miss Warren! Your Club is at the door. Are you and the Christmas presents ready to start for the Convalescents’ Home?”

“Here are the basket and boxes, Mr. Danforth,” she said, for she had them close by the door. Leaving him to bring them, she threw her red cape over her shoulders and ran down the steps to the curb-stone to tell the Club that she could not go with them on account of her Aunt Virginia.

A prolonged wail of grief went up from the Club.

“We can’t go without you!” cried Elsa, her violet-gray eyes filling with tears.

“Please,pleasecome,” entreated Betty, jumping out of the sleigh. “I will go and ask your aunt to let you.”

“But it is I who decide it, not my aunt,” Ruth Warren said. “You will have Mr. Danforth with you, and the head-nurse expects you, and you are only to stay a short time. You will get along just as well without me.”

“But we want you!” wailed the Club. “It won’t be any fun without you;” and they would not be consoled.

“Please do come, Black Lace Lady!” urgedBen in his most persuasive tone, while Alice, leaning far over the edge of the sleigh at the great risk of falling out, echoed “Please” most pleadingly.

“‘BUT WE WANT YOU!’ WAILED THE CLUB.”

It was hard indeed to resist their urgent begging, but Miss Ruth said steadily: “It will soon be over, and after all, children, your having thought of the presents for the Convalescent children means far more than the giving of the presents.”

Still the Club refused consolation. “We just won’t go without you,” said Betty passionately, kicking the snow with the toe of her rubber. “I will not get back into the sleigh.”

By this time Mr. Danforth, who realized what was going on, had the basket and boxes packed under the sleigh seats.

“But I want you to go, children,” Ruth Warren was urging.

“The Club must do as its president wishes,” Mr. Danforth said quickly, now that everything was ready. “All clubs do that,—or at least they ought to. You must honour your president by carrying out her wishes.” With this, he settled the question by lifting Betty into the back seat of the sleigh, jumping in after her, and saying to Ben:“Start along, sir, or we shall be late to our appointment. Do you think Jerry can take us out there in fifteen minutes?”

This settled it. Ben said, “G’long, Jerry!” The well-brushed horse started off briskly, the reluctant children looking backward as long as they could to see Miss Ruth standing there on the curb-stone.

The thoughts which those disappointed children had, even on Christmas morning, about Miss Virginia were not very pleasant thoughts. How much of Miss Virginia’s feelings on that same morning were due to nervousness, and how much to a desire not to have her beloved niece drive out again in that old, country-like pung no one yet knows. It is true, however, that Miss Virginia said when Ruth came back up-stairs: “I am wholly surprised that such a distinguished-looking gentleman as Mr. Danforth could be willing to go off in that sleigh and with that crowd of children.”

Elsa’s Uncle Ned tried his best to cheer the spirits of the Club. He told funny stories, he praised Ben’s horse, he gave them mysterious hints of what would take place at the Christmas-tree that afternoon—although he did not actually tell thema thing—and finally, by the time they were opposite the Holt’s sunny, flowery-windowed house, he had succeeded somewhat in making the children forget their disappointment.

Then it was that Mr. Danforth himself grew suddenly grave and thoughtful as he asked Ben to stop for a moment while he delivered a message from Mrs. Danforth to Mrs. Holt.

This did not seem anything very important, and the children waited more patiently than the horse did, in front of his home.

But the message must have been one which affected Mrs. Holt greatly; for when Ben and Alice looked, as they always did when they drove away, to see their mother wave to them from the window, she was not there. Could they have seen her at that moment, they would have been amazed to see her leaning against the mantel with her hands over her face, weeping softly at the message which Mr. Danforth had brought.

They would have been still more amazed could they have been at the front door of their own home a few moments later, when Mrs. Danforth’s coupé, drawn by the spirited gray horse, drove up to that door and Mrs. Danforth herself dismounted.

Most amazed of all would they have been whentheir mother opened the door, to hear her exclaim, “Mother!” and throw her arms around Mrs. Danforth, and to hear the tall, white-faced woman crying, “My daughter, my daughter!” as the fair-haired younger woman led her into the house and shut the door.

The rest of the short distance to the Convalescent Home was spent chiefly in talking about Miss Ruth and the Club’s plans for the future. “Are we going to have a meeting next week?” Elsa inquired of Betty, who knew Miss Ruth best.

“I don’t know, I’m sure,” was Betty’s discouraging answer. “Mother said Miss Ruth told her she was going away after New Year’s for a visit, somewhere.”

Fresh gloom settled over the Club at this. Mr. Danforth was in despair with having such unhappy children upon his hands. But Ben came to his rescue, for a gray squirrel whisking along the stone wall suggested something to Ben’s mind. Turning around, he told Mr. Danforth about carrying the squirrel to the Club meeting one day. “It didn’t frighten Miss Ruth a bit,” Ben ended earnestly; “she’s got grit, the way I like to have a girl.”

From talking about the squirrel Ben went on to tell Mr. Danforth of the screech-owl family which had lived in the hollow tree near there last spring. “I think maybe they will come back here again,” he said hopefully, “and maybe we can see them from the hut.”

“What hut?” asked Mr. Danforth very innocent-like, although he and Ben had been to the hut together more than once now.

Ben gave a chuckle which he turned into a “G’long, Jerry!” and Elsa cried, “Why, Uncle Ned, you know all about the hut! I have told you.”

A moment later they passed the hospitable sign:

CONVALESCENT HOMEOF THE CHILDREN’S HOSPITALVISITORS ALWAYS WELCOME

and the sleigh-bells jingled merrily up the avenue to the wide-winged red brick building.

The kind face of the head-nurse fairly shone with happiness when she saw the basketful of dolls and all the boxes. “I have just told the children that you were coming,” she said, “and one little boy is sure he heard the reindeers driving to thehouse. I think he is looking for you to come down the chimney,—though you could never get so many things as these down even our big chimney, at once! After you have given them the presents, they are going to sing for you the carol they have learned for their Christmas-tree, on Holy Innocents’ Day. We will go right out to the playroom, so as not to keep you or them waiting a moment.”

The children visitors all knew the way to the playroom now. Ben and Alice went first, with the big basket of dolls between them, followed by the head-nurse and Betty, Elsa and her uncle, each carrying a box, Mr. Danforth’s the largest of all, for Ben had brought out from under the front seat of the sleigh, a square box which the other members of the Club had not seen before.

The sunny playroom was decked with Christmas greens, and the little convalescents had a holiday air, for each girl wore a bright red ribbon on her hair and each boy either a bright red necktie or a bit of red ribbon in his buttonhole. There were, just as before, many, many bandaged limbs and bodies, and many children on crutches or lying in go-carts; there were the same happy patient expressions on the children’s faces, only to-day, their faces were lighted up with the excitement ofChristmas and with eager interest in the presents they were to receive.

The nurses, the Club, and Mr. Danforth, all helped quickly to distribute the gifts, and it was not long before every little girl in the room was hugging a new doll and every little boy was admiring a new top, or a tin soldier large enough to stand alone; and then there was another present for each one of the children; for out of Mr. Danforth’s box came dozens of gray squirrel-shaped boxes filled with simple candy,—until the great playroom looked as if a forestful of tiny, tame gray squirrels had been let loose there.

It was a wholly new experience to Mr. Ned Danforth to see all these little patient, crippled human beings. Like many busy men in the world, he had been in the habit of signing his name to a check and sending it to this or that hospital or charitable institution which he was asked to help. But this was the first time in his life that he had ever stepped inside such a place as the Convalescent Home; and at first it seemed to him that he could not bear the sight, that almost forty years old as he was, he would have to run away like a schoolboy, because the sight of those convalescent children made him feel so sad. But he could not run away; he wasthere in charge of the Christmas Makers’ Club. So all he could do to relieve his feelings was to put his hand into his pocket where he always kept a great many five-cent and ten-cent pieces,—being a generous-natured man,—and begin giving these pieces of money to the children.

So he started to walk very fast through the playroom, dropping into the hands or the laps of the children five-cent pieces, ten-cent pieces, pennies, silver quarter-dollars, even half-dollars, here and there, right and left, as long as they lasted. And the nurses, in great fear lest the little children put the money into their mouths and swallow it, followed closely after him, taking the money away from the surprised children, who were so used to being obedient that they gave it up without any fuss, and kind-hearted Uncle Ned did not know what was happening behind him.

Ben and Alice, Betty and Elsa were all too much occupied to notice, either. Ben was surrounded by a group of his own particular little friends, the boys whom he took out driving; Alice and Betty were coaxing shy little girls to talk about their new dolls, and Elsa had found out the black-eyed child in whose arms she had seen her own old china doll, Bettina, on her first visit here.

The child’s frame was strapped to a board, just as Elsa had seen it before; but she called out cheerily: “I am all better! See my new dolly!” On the floor by her side lay the old doll, so battered and changed that only one who had loved her as Elsa had would have recognized her.

Elsa picked up the old doll tenderly, saying to herself: “I will hold her till the little girl remembers and wants her.” “What is your new doll’s name?” she asked the child.

“’Tina.”

“What is the old doll’s name?” Elsa held the battered doll out in plain sight.

“’Tina,” said the little girl, reaching out for the old doll and blissfully clasping the old and the new together in her arms.

“And what is your own name, dear?” asked Elsa, for the dark-eyed child interested her greatly.

“Iona,” the soft voice answered very distinctly.

“Come, come, Elsa! It is time to start,” her Uncle Ned said, hurrying up to her and trying to be very gruff. His face was quite red under its tanned colour, and he was biting the ends of his moustache savagely.

But just then, at a signal from the head-nurse, the children began to sing their Christmas carol:

“Once in royal David’s cityStood a lowly cattle shed,Where a mother laid her baby,In a manger for his bed;Mary was that mother mild,Jesus Christ her little child.“For he is our childhood’s pattern;Day by day like us he grew;He was little, weak, and helpless,Tears and smiles like us he knew;And he feeleth for our sadness,And he shareth in our gladness.“And our eyes at last shall see him,Through his own redeeming love;For that child so dear and gentleIs our Lord in heaven above,And he leads his children onTo the place where he is gone.”

“Once in royal David’s cityStood a lowly cattle shed,Where a mother laid her baby,In a manger for his bed;Mary was that mother mild,Jesus Christ her little child.

“Once in royal David’s city

Stood a lowly cattle shed,

Where a mother laid her baby,

In a manger for his bed;

Mary was that mother mild,

Jesus Christ her little child.

“For he is our childhood’s pattern;Day by day like us he grew;He was little, weak, and helpless,Tears and smiles like us he knew;And he feeleth for our sadness,And he shareth in our gladness.

“For he is our childhood’s pattern;

Day by day like us he grew;

He was little, weak, and helpless,

Tears and smiles like us he knew;

And he feeleth for our sadness,

And he shareth in our gladness.

“And our eyes at last shall see him,Through his own redeeming love;For that child so dear and gentleIs our Lord in heaven above,And he leads his children onTo the place where he is gone.”

“And our eyes at last shall see him,

Through his own redeeming love;

For that child so dear and gentle

Is our Lord in heaven above,

And he leads his children on

To the place where he is gone.”

Then, because they were such frail little children that they could not learn much or readily, they sang as the other part of their Christmas service, their daily grace:

“Thank Him, thank Him,All ye little children,Thank Him, thank Him,God is love.”

“Thank Him, thank Him,

All ye little children,

Thank Him, thank Him,

God is love.”

The plaintive child faces, some of them white as snow-drops, the delicate, sweet voices singing the Christmas hymn and the simple grace, proved too much for Uncle Ned’s tender heart. “We mustgo, we must go this minute!” he exclaimed hurriedly calling the Club together and fairly driving them out of the room, before him.

Elsa looked back long enough to say good-bye to the dark-eyed child of her fancy, and the little one called cheerily: “Dood-bye. I am all better! Tum aden.”

The head-nurse followed the retreating man and the hurrying children along the passageway toward the front door with a very understanding look on her face.

“Have we stayed too long?” Elsa inquired anxiously, stopping behind the others and lifting her serious eyes to Miss Hartwell’s face.

“No, dear; there are still a few moments left of the time I had set for your little Club to stay.”

Elsa did not tell this to the other children or to her uncle. Already, however, she had learned what her uncle did not yet know, but what he learned later: that while the first visit to the Convalescent Home is saddening, each time after that the place grows more and more interesting and less sad to visit.

At the door Mr. Ned Danforth turned and shook hands briskly with the head-nurse.

“Splendid place here!” he said, again very gruffly.“Noble work you are doing! Thank you for your kindness to us.” Then he thrust a large-sized bill into her hand, saying in a desperate sort of way, “Use it to do something more for those children!”

And Ben suddenly remembered the small white box containing five dollars and sixty cents which he had in his pocket. He pulled it forth and handed it to Miss Hartwell with a profound bow: “It is some money that the Christmas Makers’ Club—that’s us—have earned all ourselves to help the little Convalescings.”

“Thank you, thank you, all of you,” said Miss Hartwell, looking from one to another of the bright-faced children. “I am sure you cannot realize how much help you have given to the children here and to the Home.”

Too delighted for words, the Club members smiled back at Miss Hartwell.

She hesitated about speaking of Miss Ruth Warren, for Mr. Danforth had told her, when they first came, of the Club’s tearful tendencies. It was not until the children were going through the doorway that she said: “You are as heartily sorry as I am, I know, because Miss Warren could not come with you; but we shall look forward to other visitsfrom your Club when the longer days of spring are here.”

The faces of the children showed their mingled grief and anticipation expressively; they were speechless, however, on the subject of Miss Ruth.

“May I take some of the little chaps out sleigh-riding to-morrow morning?” asked Ben, a heartful of sympathy shining in his boyish face.

“Yes, Ben; and you don’t know how those little lads look forward to their drives with you. We shall have to call you the Charioteer of the Convalescent Home,” said Miss Hartwell.

Then, as the door closed behind them, Mr. Danforth speedily bundled the Club into the sleigh for the homeward drive.

When they turned into Berkeley Avenue, Elsa thought she caught a sight, far ahead, of her grandmother’s gray horse; but she decided it could not have been, because her grandmother almost never went driving in the morning, and she surely would not be away from home when there was so much to see about in regard to the Christmas-tree. Even Elsa herself did not know what all the surprises were to be, although she knew that many wonderful things were going to happen that Christmas afternoon.

That afternoon, the surprises came so fast and so astonishingly that the heads of the Christmas Makers’ Club and of all concerned fairly whirled with excitement.

To begin with, Ben and Alice thought it strange indeed that Mrs. Danforth’s gray horse and handsome double-seated sleigh were sent to take their mother and them to the Christmas party.

“Why couldn’t we go with Jerry just as well?” Ben asked loyally. “I could cover him all up with his blanket and hitch him in front of Elsa’s grandmother’s house.”

But Mrs. Holt only smiled for answer. The children had found their mother very bright-eyed, on their return, and she had been more than usually tender with them, but had told them nothing as yet.

“Do you think Elsa’s grandmother will let us drive home, or will we have to walk?” Alice asked gravely.

“I think she will have us drive home,” said Mrs. Holt, turning aside to hide the happy tears that would spring into her eyes. She had dressed Alice in her prettiest white dress,—a soft muslin with dainty lace-trimmed ruffles,—and Ben wore for the first time a new dark blue blouse suit; for Mrs.Holt was anxious to have her children look their best that afternoon.

“Mrs. Danforth would like to see you all in the library, ma’am,” said Cummings, who opened the door. The twins wondered very much why their mother’s hands trembled so. It could not be because she was afraid of that straight-backed maid-servant who took their wraps and who smiled at them quite pleasantly. Elsa was nowhere to be seen, which surprised them.

In the centre of the library stood Mrs. Danforth, not quite so erect as usual, and with one hand on a chair, to support herself. She bowed her head and her figure swayed slightly when Mrs. Holt entered the room, with Ben just ahead of her on the right and Alice on the left.

“Mother,—here are my children, Alice and Ben,” Mrs. Holt said in a low voice which sounded as if there were tears behind it, “and, children dear,”—she pressed them gently forward,—“this is your own grandmother.”

Mrs. Danforth knelt down suddenly and put her arms around both of the mystified children, looking first into one and then the other of the amazed, blue-eyed faces. She tried to speak, but something choked her.

“Let me tell them, mother,” said Mrs. Holt, helping her to rise and leading her to a chair. “I have always promised them I would tell them, some day, about their grandmother.” Kneeling down, herself, now, by the side of the chair, and drawing the children into her embrace, Mrs. Holt said in the same tear-sounding voice and very slowly: “Listen, children: when I was hardly more than a grown-up girl, I ran away from my home and married your father against my mother’s wishes, for he was a poor man, and he, too, was hardly old enough to be married. And because I was a disobedient daughter, my mother punished me by not wanting to see me for a long, long time. That time is ended now and—” Mrs. Holt hid her face and her tears against her own little daughter’s shoulder.

Then Mrs. Danforth found her voice and said: “Dear children, your grandmother has been a sorry, sad woman all these years that she tried to punish her daughter, but she is happy—very happy now—to have her daughter back again and her own grandchildren.”

“Are you our grandmother?” Alice asked shyly, staring with wide-open blue eyes at the gray-hairedlady who said such interesting things and seemed so sorry.

“Yes, darling,” was the grandmotherly answer. “And you look just as your mother looked when she was a little girl.”

“You are really and truly my grandmother?” asked Ben in a delighted tone, although he could not stop thinking how surprising it was that his mother had ever been a little girl, and had been punished.

“Yes. Are you going to love me?” Mrs. Danforth was astonished at herself for asking.

For particular answer, Ben threw his arms around her neck. “It’s going to be real easy for me to love you,” he said happily. Then he drew back and looked at her, seriously, before he announced: “I think I shall call you Grandmother Gray.”

“That is a very good name, my boy,” she said, smiling through the joyful tears that had sprung into her eyes at the feeling of his loving young arms around her neck; and her glasses fell off her nose like any grandmother’s.

“Is Elsa our cousin now?” asked Ben, who was always of an inquiring turn of mind.

“No, my dear,” replied his grandmother, brushingback his hair with her richly jewelled hand; “and I will tell you why. After your own grandfather died and after your mother went away, I married a widower, Judge Danforth, who had two sons. One of those sons was Elsa’s father and the other is her Uncle Ned, whom you know. After Judge Danforth died, and Elsa’s father also, I moved to Berkeley, because I knew that your mother was here, and I could not live any longer without seeing her and my grandchildren. Elsa is no real relation to me at all.”

Alice, who was holding her mother’s hand closely in hers while all these wonderful things were going on, looked wholly puzzled; but Ben thrust his hands into the pockets of his new trousers,—jingled the two silver quarters he had earned by helping Mr. Danforth an hour that morning, after the drive,—and said thoughtfully: “Then Elsa hasn’t you for a real grandmother. Does she know it?”

“Yes,” replied Mrs. Danforth; “I told her after she came from the Convalescent Home this morning.”

“I am all the gladder she is going to have Susie!” cried Alice; then she quickly clapped her rounded hand over her mouth.

But Ben had more questions to ask, so he didnot notice that Alice had told. “Are you very rich, Grandmother Gray?”

“Yes,” she answered, rather surprised that the boy should ask this.

“Will you give Peggy—I mean Alice—some pretty dresses, same as Elsa and Betty have?”

“Yes, my boy, Alice shall have everything she wants and so shall you.”

Alice put her chubby hands together softly, in almost unbelieving joy, and Ben said radiantly: “What I want most of all is that mother of mine need not work hard any more.”

A look of great sorrow passed over Mrs. Danforth’s face, and Mrs. Holt whispered to Ben: “Hush, my darling.”

The front door-bell ringing, told of the arrival of other guests. “We must call Elsa in for a moment,” said Mrs. Danforth, rising. Her eyes were soft now, with that look of tears in them. Stepping to the library door, she said gently, “Elsa!” And Elsa, who had been waiting in the reception-room across the hall, came into the library just as Ruth Warren and Betty and a quiet little woman—whom Cummings instantly recognized—entered the hall door and were asked by Cummings to go up-stairs and leave their wraps.

Elsa was dressed in a dainty white silk gown with a full, many-ruffled skirt. She looked very pale as she stepped into the library and stood, a lone, sensitive-faced child, opposite the happy group of grandmother, mother, and two children.

It was Elsa, strangely enough, who spoke first. Turning to Alice, she said slowly: “You—you and Ben have a grandmother now and I haven’t any. Shall I have to go away,” she asked, lifting her pathetic eyes to Mrs. Danforth’s face, “and be a poor little girl?” She had just begun to think of this question.

“You need never go away unless you wish to, Elsa,” Mrs. Danforth said quickly. “And you will not be a poor little girl, for, as your Uncle Ned and I have agreed that I should tell you to-day, you are a very rich little girl, with a great deal of money that is all your own.”

“O, how glad I am!” cried Elsa, some of the sorrowful look dying out of her eyes; “for now I can do everything I want to, to help the Convalescent children.”

There was something so touching and so winning in the little orphan girl, standing there with her face full of unselfish joy at the thought of what she could do for others less fortunate thanherself, that Mrs. Danforth suddenly humbled herself before this little child.

“Elsa,” she said, stepping forward, “I have not been as kind and loving to you as I might have been. But the love which springs up in my heart for my own grandchildren makes me realize how much I also love the little girl who has brightened my home and been so brave and obedient.” She held out her arms. Elsa came forward gladly, and Mrs. Danforth kissed her with warm affection,—apparently quite forgetting that she had ever thought this a foolish custom. And Elsa felt that she loved her grandmother-that-was a great deal more dearly now that she wasn’t really her grandmother. Then Alice put her soft arms around Elsa’s neck, and Mrs. Holt said kindly: “I shall have to call you my little niece, Elsa.”

Ben spoke up then: “Do you remember I’ve never told you my name for you, Elsa? I’ve changed it now. It used to be Sad Girl, that’s why I didn’t tell you before; but now it’s going to be ‘Princess.’” Dropping a shy kiss on Elsa’s golden hair, Ben ran off in answer to a muffled summons.

At that same moment Cummings pulled back the heavy green velvet portières which separated thelibrary from the drawing-room, and the glory of the Christmas-tree burst upon the children’s sight.

The tree, reaching nearly to the ceiling, stood at the farther end of the long drawing-room, its graceful branches fairly drooping with treasures. There were packages of every shape and description; there were long icicles, moving, swaying balls of silver and gold, scarlet and blue, glowing and sparkling in the mellow radiance of many wax candles; and there was a beautiful white Christmas angel at the very top of the tree. A warm, spicy odour of balsam fir filled the air, and a splendid, roaring fire in the great fireplace cast a ruddy light over the beautiful furnishings of the drawing-room.

Elsa, puzzled and excited by the events of the day, ran forward to greet Miss Ruth with a feeling as of seeking shelter. “Do you know that grandmother isn’t my grandmother really, but is Alice’s and Ben’s?” she said in a low tone, slipping her hand into Miss Ruth’s.

Ruth Warren, who had on the black lace gown with the little old lady’s coral beads around her neck, gazed in surprise at Elsa for a half moment. Then it was all so simple that she wondered why she had not thought of Mrs. Danforth’s possiblyhaving been twice married. “We know now why both your grandmother—I mean Mrs. Danforth—and Mrs. Holt have the paintings alike,” said Miss Ruth.

“Yes, I remember—the picture of the house where grandmother used to live,” cried Elsa.

But one could not stop very long to think about any one thing, with that Christmas-tree in the room.

“I wish my Uncle Ned could be here,” Elsa exclaimed, as she swung around into sight of the tree. “He had to go to the city this noon. Perhaps he will come back before the tree is over. He said he would if he could.”

While Betty and Alice were gazing delightedly at the gorgeous tree, Miss Ruth asked Elsa, in a low voice, to go across the hall into the reception-room to find a Christmas surprise which was waiting for her there. And soon Elsa came back with shining, happy eyes, leading by the hand a short, comely-faced woman whose brown hair was slightly streaked with gray. “This is Bettina March, my dear, dear Bettina,” said Elsa, introducing the shy, modest little woman to the group of her friends; but Bettina, although she greeted them all in a musical voice, with a slight German accent, had eyes only for her beloved former charge, Elsa.

“Where is Ben?” asked Ruth Warren, in part to turn attention from the shrinking stranger, who was half-laughing, half-crying with joy, and in part because she was wondering who would take the presents from the tree.

Then an amazing thing happened. With a long hoo-oo-t! a great gray owl hopped, sidling fashion, from the library doorway into the full sight of the astonished Christmas party, flapping his wings awkwardly as he made his way across the room to the Christmas-tree. And close behind him scampered a very large gray squirrel.

A shout went up from the children.

“Gray Owl Santa Claus!” cried Betty, whirling round and round till she looked like a red balloon in her holly-red dress.

Alice, half-frightened, drew away from the Gray Owl toward the Squirrel. “Ben is the Squirrel,” she exclaimed, for nothing could deceive her with regard to her twin brother.

“Keep a good heart!” the Gray Owl called out in a quick, muffled voice, close to Elsa’s ear.

“O, Uncle Ned, Uncle Ned!” she cried delightedly. “You came back to be a Gray Owl Santa Claus! What a dear, funny uncle you are.”

Then the Gray Owl, with sudden, awkwardmovements, began taking the presents off from the tree and handing them to the Gray Squirrel, who clasped his paws around them and carried them to the persons whose names the Owl had called in a deep, muffled voice.

And then it was that the Club had a chance to see the marvellous costumes of the queer Santa Claus and his helper. The Gray Owl’s body-covering was of soft gray wool material which lay in ridges like downy feathers; the wings, which were held to his arms by long sleeves of gray gauze, were made of closely placed long gray feathers and quills, and his head was covered by a gray owl mask, with tufted ears and yellow eyes having thin black slits. The squirrel had on a most cleverly made coat of soft gray wool shaded to purest white on the breast; a bristly, broom-like tail dragged behind him, and a pointed-nosed mask with sharp little ears, was drawn close over his head.

By this time every one had received many presents, and a great opening of packages had begun. The Club members had thought of most interesting remembrances for one another. Elsa and Betty had together given Alice a beautiful doll that could talk, a blue-eyed waxen beauty with fringed eyelashes that opened and shut, rose-leaf cheeks and silkyflaxen curls; and the two girls had given to Ben a locomotive with an electric battery,—a bewitching package which he stopped long enough to open with his deft gray squirrel paws, and to cry out about, in his unsquirrel-like voice: “Oh, my, how jolly!” Alice and Ben had together given to Betty and to Elsa each a beautiful white hyacinth. Elsa had from Betty a trunkful of dresses for her best doll, and Betty from Elsa a dainty silver watch. From Miss Ruth, Ben had a box of tools, and each of the girls a gold thimble.

Still the Gray Owl kept on taking presents from the tree, the Squirrel jumped around with packages, and the fun went on. Nobody was forgotten. There were presents for Bettina, who ran away soon to Miss Virginia, after a last loving look at Elsa; there were presents for Miss Ruth and Mrs. Holt, for Mrs. Danforth and for Mrs. White, who came in somewhat late to have a look at her neighbour’s Christmas-tree. There were presents for Mr. Danforth, who tucked them away in some mysterious make-believe Gray Owl tree-hollow; for Cummings, and for Sarah Judd, who came by special invitation of the Club, and who smiled until her face seemed in danger of cracking apart, as she received first a bright scarlet geranium from Benand Alice, then a pretty white apron from Betty, and a handsomely illustrated book from Elsa.

When the Squirrel, taking a square package, ran with little leaping steps to Mrs. Danforth and began making a speech, everybody stopped talking to listen.

“Grandmother Gray,” he said, “when you invited the Club to have a Christmas-tree at your house, I had an idea that you must be very rich, and I thought you must need a good safe place to keep your money in, so I made this for you.”

Mrs. Danforth, with trembling fingers, like any surprised grandmother, unwrapped the package to find a box, neatly jointed together, with the lower part just large enough to put bills in laid out flat, and the upper part divided into five places,—one, each, for pennies, five-cent pieces, ten-cent pieces, quarters and half-dollars, as Ben, looking on, explained. The box was stained a rich, dark red colour, and had a tiny padlock and key.

“Nonsense!” said the grandmother in greatest delight. “Did you make this, Ben?”

“Yes, grandmother; I used to think I would be a carpenter,” replied Ben, as she took his two gray kid-gloved little hands into hers for a moment. “I think now, though, that I shall be a bird-man.”

Then, just like any fond, indulgent grandmother, Mrs. Danforth smiled and said: “You shall be whatever you want to be, my boy.” And Mrs. Holt looked with motherly pride upon her bright-eyed, happy-faced son.

While the box was being passed around and admired and the Squirrel was explaining it, the Gray Owl hopped in his funny sidelong fashion, with awkward, flopping wings, to Alice—who was not afraid of him now—and asked her to give to Elsa a long white box marked: “From the Christmas Makers’ Club.”

“Susie! Susie! You dear old doll,” Elsa cried, drawing a long, sobbing breath of delight. They all turned at her exclamation and saw her clasping to her breast an old-fashioned china doll in a white ball dress looped up with morsels of pink rosebuds over a blue silk petticoat.

But there was no time even to explain to Elsa why the Club had given her the old-fashioned doll, for another exciting event claimed their attention immediately. The Gray Owl and the Squirrel together took a heavy, flat package to Miss Ruth, who had already received so many remembrances that she was far from having thoughts of anything more. The Club watched breathlessly. This wasthe present which Mrs. White had helped them choose.

From under many white-paper wrappings appeared at last a beautiful Fra Angelico trumpeter angel, soft, rich, scarlet-and-gold in colouring, in a handsome gilt frame. With the picture came a card, on which Betty had written with great carefulness: “An angel to blow you a greeting from your affectionate Christmas Makers’ Club.” And to this card all the members of the Club had signed their names.

Hardly had Miss Ruth had time to thank the Club, when the Gray Owl handed to Elsa a long, white business-like looking envelope addressed to “Miss Ruth Warren, President of the Christmas Makers’ Club.” The excitement of Elsa’s manner made the others look on again with keenest interest.

What was their delight and rapture to have Miss Ruth read a legal paper, presenting to the Club, from Elsa Danforth, the gift, for the exclusive use of the Club, of a log-hut on a certain piece of wood property on Berkeley Avenue.

“The hut! The hut! All our own!” cried Betty, whirling around again like a lively red balloon. And then they all began talking at once and very fast about furnishing the hut, of keeping somedolls and dishes there, even of having a fireplace built so they could use the hut for meetings in cold weather!

Elsa, whose thought this gift of the hut had been—although her Uncle Ned had carried it out, with Ben’s help—stood enjoying to the full the happiness of the Club, when suddenly, with a long, low hoo-oo-t! the Gray Owl, flapping his wings, landed in front of her. Bowing low, he said: “Princess, the Gray Owl begs that you will allow him to live with you here, in Berkeley, from this time forth.”

“Uncle Ned! Do you really mean it?” she begged, lifting her flower-like face and beseeching gray eyes to his.

“Yes, the Gray Owl really means it. He will not be a cross Gray Owl, though, so keep a good heart, Princess,” he answered, making believe he thought she did not want him to live with her, for he had seen tears start under her long eyelashes. Then, because he knew that many exciting things had happened to his little niece that day, he drew her toward him and held her under the shelter of his soft gray wings.

Of all the surprises that Christmas had brought to Elsa, this last one was the best. It was far morethan the knowledge that she had a great deal of money even though she was happy in the thought that she could help the convalescent children with that money; it was more than the great satisfaction of having Bettina March come back into her life, more than the gift of the little old lady’s doll and all the many other Christmas presents put together:—more than all these; for she loved her Uncle Ned better than she loved anybody else in the whole wide world. And she drew back within the shelter of the wide wings in supreme content.

THE END.

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