"Well, Miss Williams," said Walter Harris, as he sprang to meet a
snow-covered figure coming swiftly along the sidewalk. "I can see that
you found him. You've lost the first number, but they won't scold
you--not this time."

The girl turned a radiant face upon him. "Thank you," she said, shaking
the snowy crystals from her skirt. "I don't care now if they do. I
should have lost more than that if I had stayed."



VIII. TOINETTE AND THE ELVES*

* Published by arrangement with Little, Brown & Co.

SUSAN COOLIDGE

The winter's sun was nearing the horizon's edge. Each moment the tree
shadows grew longer in the forest; each moment the crimson light on the
upper boughs became more red and bright. It was Christmas Eve, or would
be in half an hour, when the sun should be fairly set; but it did not
feel like Christmas, for the afternoon was mild and sweet, and the wind
in the leafless boughs sang, as it moved about, as though to imitate
the vanished birds. Soft trills and whistles, odd little shakes and
twitters--it was astonishing what pretty noises the wind made, for it
was in good humor, as winds should be on the Blessed Night; all its
storm-tones and bass-notes were for the moment laid aside, and gently
as though hushing a baby to sleep, it cooed and rustled and brushed to
and fro in the leafless woods.