relentless rain against the skylight of the lowroofed, sloping attic-bedroom of two little children, a boy and a girl, aged respectively six and seven. In the next room, also low, and very scantily furnished, their mother was stitching away rapidly and patiently, by the flickering light of a common tallow candle, at a half-completed garment. She was a slight, graceful woman, one who had evidently seen better days. Once, indeed, she had known what it was to have a comfortable and almost luxurious home; but that was long past. Trouble and losses had fallen thick upon her; her husband had died after a long and expensive illness; delicate health had been her own lot for the last few years; one lodging after another had been given up for want of means; and the scanty pittance she could earn by needlework was barely sufficient to pay the rent of the two small rooms she now occupied, in addition to the needful food for herself and two hearty children. An only brother in America, who had sent her assistance and cheery loving letters from time to time, in the first days of her distress, had ceased to write, and when mail after mail arrived, and still no tidings of him were received, she came to the sorrowful conclusion that he was dead.

She was very, very poor now, yet she had lost neither her love of refinement, nor the brave bright spirit of her girlhood. Both were visible in the exquisite cleanliness of the small room, the artistic arrangement of the few simple pictures on the shabby walls, and not least of all, in the unruffled neatness of her own attire, and the bright braids of glossy brown hair coiled closely round her head.

Her poverty grieved her for the sake of her darlings, but she did what she could; contrived to dress them neatly and becomingly, taught them to read and write, so that they were already in advance of most of the children around, shielded them from rough and hurtful company, and, above all, had made them to love the Great Father who takes care of us all our lives.

After she had sat stitching away silently for some time, a church clock struck out seven. She paused and counted the strokes, then folded her unfinished work after a moment's consideration, and laid it on the table with a weary look of disappointment.

"It's of no use! I couldn't possibly finish it tonight now; I'm sorry, but it can't be helped, and the probability was they would not have paid me ready money, though it is Christmas Eve!" she said, half aloud. And then, taking up the candle, she passed into the other room, and bent over the children's bed.

"You won't mind being left a little while, dears,

Mother, mother!" called Jamie, as she was leaving the room, "you've forgotten to hang up the stockings for Santa Claus !"

"I'm afraid he won't come to-night, dear; we must wait for brighter times-they're dark enough now!" she murmured to herself. Nevertheless, to please the little folks, she got out two capacious stockings, which she hung up, one on one side of the chimney-piece, and one on the other, but she did it with a sigh. What a disappointment it would be on the morrow, for the first time in their lives, to find them empty!

"Good night, dears, and never mind about Santa Claus, so long as we make the pudding."

She went back into the sitting-room, dressed herself quickly, and then opened one of the drawers of an old-fashioned bureau, and took out a purse. How light it felt! how little the contents looked, as she poured them out into her lap! Three shillings, two sixpences, and some halfpence; and that was all! She gathered them up, and put them back into the purse-the whole sum would not even cover the baker's bill and the rent; and closing that drawer, she opened another, and drew out a rather faded but handsome Indian shawl. It had been a gift from her brother in happier days, and as she looked at it the tears gathered in her eyes; but she brushed them away.

"I shall get a shilling or two for it. I never thought to come to this; but the poor babes can't go without their Christmas pudding. Trouble will come to them quickly enough ; it shan't come sooner than I can help!"

The shawl was folded neatly in paper, and, hiding it under her mantle, she glided quietly down-stairs, and out into the street.

So Tottie and Jamie were left alone, and the rain still sang its melancholy song.

"Tottie," said the boy, "what did mother say about Santa Claus ?"

"She doesn't think he will come!" was the rather disconsolate answer. "She said he would

wait till brighter weather. It is too dark and wet, I suppose."

The little fellow began to whimper. "If mother can go cut, I should think Santa Claus might," he said, fretfully. "It isn't Christmas a bit without him. Oh, dear! oh, dear!"

"It won't do any good to cry," answered Tottie, with the superior tone of a whole year's extra wisdom. "But I've been thinking--suppose we tell 'Our Father' about it, and ask Him to send Santa Claus."

Jamie brushed away his tears and listened. "Do you think He can?" he suggested, doubtfully.

"Of course He can; mother asks Him for everything!"

"It would be very nice," said the boy cheerfully; "but you must ask; you are oldest."

So Tottie knelt down in the bed, her fair hair streaming over her white night-dress. But all at once she paused.

"Mother did look so sad to-night! Don't you think she would like some presents too?"

"Does Santa Claus ever bring grown-up persons things?"

"If he's told, he'll have to," said Tottie decidedly. "I'll ask," and, clasping her hands, she said, “Our Father, please make it bright for Santa Claus to come, and tell him to bring mother what she would like most."

She looked up at the skylight, more than half expecting an immediate answer, in her childlike faith; but the rain still pattered on the panes, and the night wind whistled down the chimney.

"I'm afraid he won't come," said poor little Jamie, wistfully.

"Oh, there's lots of time yet; he doesn't come till every one is fast asleep. Jamie, suppose you might choose whatever you liked best in the whole wide world, what would you ask Santa Claus to bring you?"

"Oh, I don't know. Yes I do, though. A big cart, with real wheels, and a horse with harness to take on and off, like the one we saw in the window when mother took us into Regent Street. And— well, I should like as much cake as I could eat, just for once; but I think I'd rather have the cart." "And I should like a doll that opens its eyes and can cry. How happy the boys and girls must be who get such beautiful things!"

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'They wouldn't go into a stocking," suggested Jamie, who was of a practical turn of mind; and Tottie having no answer at hand to meet the difficulty, both were silent. How lonely it seemed without mother! The rain beat more fiercely than ever, the candle burnt more and more dimly, and the furniture cracked and groaned in the silence.

"I wish mother would come home," whispered Jamie fearfully, from under the bedclothes. "The wind does sound so; and I thought I heard footsteps. I'm so frightened!"

"Don't be a coward, Jamie; it's only the lodger down below," answered Tottie, consolingly. But she was in reality every bit as timid as her brother; her spirits began to flag, and the two nestled very closely to each other, and lay quite still.

Jamie was soon fast asleep, but his sister lay awake for some time, listening nervously for her mother's return. Presently a great silence took the place of the boisterous wind, the patter of the raindrops ceased, and Tottie opened her eyes and ventured to peep from under the bedclothes. The candle in the next room had gone out, but the bright moonlight streamed in at the open door, and through the skylight a golden star twinkled merrily at her, as though it laughed at her fears.

"It is quite fine now," she said, with quiet exultation, all her fears forgotten; "and Santa Claus will come. I was quite sure Our Father' would hear me. How pleased mother will be, and I wonder what I shall find in my stocking! I'll wake up ever so early, before any one is up, to have the first look. And now I'll go to sleep."

CHAPTER II.-"GLAD CHRISTMAS MORN."

"Good will towards men."

JAMIE'S quick ears had been quite right about the footsteps on the stairs, for just after his mother had left the house a brown-bearded, sunburnt man had entered, and, nodding his thanks to a woman who had accompanied him, had crept quietly up the rickety stairs alone, just in time to overhear the children's conversation as he stood at the halflatched door. When they had finished he plucked off his boots, and bowing his head at the low entrance, stole noiselessly, stealthily as a cat, into the deserted sitting-room. It felt damp and chilly, and looked altogether cheerless in the gloomy light of the solitary candle, which had by this time burnt almost down to its socket, and was throwing a dismal orange light on all around. He stood still, as if uncertain how to act. He would have liked to have snuffed the gaunt, black, overgrown wick, yet dare not, for fear of attracting the children's attention; but the moon pityingly came to his help, and looking out from her covering of clouds, flooded the whole chamber with her silvery light.

He seemed of a curiously inquisitive turn of mind, this strange visitor. First he opened the little cupboard, which was larder and crockery store all in one, and a quiet growl of disapproval

grimy skylight; but her one great thought just now was to make sure that Santa Claus had paid his expected visit, before she awoke her sleeping brother.

It was with a very anxious little heart that she raised herself cautiously, and peeped round at the fireplace; but next moment her delighted cry of "He has been, Jamie! he has been !" startled her companion out of his dreams, and, barefooted and nightgowned, both little creatures paddled across the room, in a quiver of eager excitement.

Yes, there they hung! Not the limp empty stockings of last night; but two fat, bloated white ones, with sundry lumps like big chilblains sticking out over the toes and heels; and, that there might be no possible doubt as to their ownership, under each lay a large and rather clumsy-looking brown-paper parcel, ticketed respectively "Tottie and "Jamie."

They had both hoped to find a couple of oranges, an apple cr two, perhaps a bag of nuts, and far down in a snug corner of the foot some tiny keepsake, such as a pencil, a needle-book, or possibly even a brightly painted toy; but never, even in their wildest dreams, had they pictured to themselves such gifts as they turned out now one by one, from the tightly-packed storehouse. One might well have fancied that Santa Claus had poured out his whole sackful of wonders at his little friends' feet, to make that Christmas Day a day of days, one never to be forgotten.

First of all came a smart scarf and a pair of warm gloves for each, a bright pair of scissors for Tottie, and a double-bladed knife for Jamie; then for the one, a box of dominoes and a ball, and for the other, a humming-top, and a curious little figure on springs, which, when its new master took it by the handle, jumped on one leg to the top of its stick, and gazed at him comically. Afterwards followed a lot of gaily-painted crackers, and, at the bottom of all, candy, and sugar-plums, and chocolate, and all kinds of sweets, made into quaint figures and devices. Smaller articles, such as a thimble and an emery cushion for Tottie, and marbles for Jamie, were hidden away cunningly in the corner. Santa Claus was evidently a good packer, and had done his work right royally.

The children were so taken up with their stockings, that for some time the big parcels were forgotten; but when at last the strings were unloosed, and the many folds of paper undone, the owner of each uttered a wild shriek of joy.

"Oh, Jamie, look at my doll!" and— "Tottie, see this cart!"

For, to be sure, there was the identical vehicle, with its blue body and scarlet wheels, drawn by the long-tailed dapple-grey horse, in buff harness,

which had so taken Jamie's fancy in the toy-shop! And there, too, lying fast asleep in its luxurious cradle, with a little trunk by its side, containing a complete wardrobe, was a splendid wax doll, nearly as big as a baby; and because wonders that day were never to cease, its eyelids slowly opened in answer to Tottie's appealing pressure, and at a further touch in another direction it began to cry for its breakfast.

"Good morning, and a very merry Christmas to my darlings!" said their mother's voice behind them. “If I had asked you to sit for half an hour before breakfast in a cold room, and in your nightgowns, you would have thought yourselves rather badly used; but I suppose you think people can't take cold on Christmas Day! Has Santa Claus treated you well? I see he has been, after all?"

Her voice sounded bright and joyous, and Tottie noticed it.

“Yes, we asked 'Our Father' to send him, and He did," she answered, looking up demurely, with her sweet baby face, and as if it were quite natural that what had happened should follow her request. And, mother dear," she added, "do tell us what he brought you."

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It did not even occur to the little maiden to say, "Did he bring you anything?" It was not likely that the Great Kind Father who had listened so lovingly to her little prayer, would only answer by halves, or leave out this gentle mother who had first taught her to trust Him.

"I have got the one blessing I longed for most in the world for my Christmas-box, Tottie," was the mother's glad answer.

"Oh, how nice!" they cried, clapping their hands; and Tottie began, "That's just what I- -" but she stopped. "We won't tell yet, will wc, Jamie?”

"No; it would spoil the fun," chimed in her brother.

"And now, my children, put the cart and horse into the stable, and doll into her cradle, and make haste and dress, and come to breakfast; then you will see for yourselves what mother's present is."

The table was spread that morning for breakfast with a magnificence which must have dazzled even the very attic itself to behold. It groaned beneath the weight of sausages, and ham and eggs, of brown bread and white, of plum cake, and jam. The mother was busy when the children entered, broiling delicate slices of the tempting ham, but at first all else was lost to Tottie and her brother in the startling fact that there, in mother's own chair, in her own corner by the fire, sat a great big, dark, hairy man, whose eyes were all aglow with fun and amusement at the consternation he was causing.

Tottie drew back timidly, but Jamie stepped