"I'll 'member all dat," laughed Aunt Bettie reassuringly, as the child departed from the kitchen, but a feeling of sadness came to the faithful old soul as she recalled the festivities of the year before, when Christmas dinner had been prepared for the whole family of children and grandchildren, and the thought of how the dear head of the family had enjoyed that occasion brought tears to her eyes.

Such conversations were being held every day, and the days were passing, too, with astonishing rapidity, just as they always do when one is deeply interested in some absorbing project.

Aunt Alice had been receiving, daily, numerous letters—several containing checks—and little Alsie's correspondence had suddenly grown to enormous proportions.

Uncle Dick came in one evening, and slipping a gold piece into his sister's hand remarked, "I can't think of a thing for that pie, Alice. I'm sorry to be so stupid, but I'll have to ask you to take this and see what your clever brain can do with it."

"O, Dick, it will make a grand 'plum' for the pie. I'll put it in, just in this form, for I want all the money entrusted to me, as agent, to go toward providing for father, comforts and luxuries, such as we might not be able to afford under ordinary circumstances. And yet, it's almost impossible to know exactly how to spend it just now," replied Alice. After a little pause she added, "I believe I'll just put the gold pieces and checks into a little box and label it, 'Fruit for the Pie.' My biggest check may truly be termed a peach, and I can convert one or two others into plums and raisins."

"I think I know of several plums that will be forthcoming if that's your idea, sis—it's a capital one, too," answered Dick. "I confess I'm getting quite interested in the contents myself, and two or three times I've come near asking about the progress of the pie, before mother, forgetting that she's to share in the great surprise."

"O, Dick, do be careful, for we have arranged it all so nicely, and in another week we'll be making up that pie, so don't spoil our plans now, for how much more father will enjoy it if his dear little 'wifey' shares the pleasure also. And, by the way, Dick, that reminds me of something that must go in for mother. A few days ago, when I was sitting with father, he directed me to get a trifling gift for mother, but with his old-time humor he said, 'I believe the most acceptable gift that I could make Wifey would be all the receipts of the bills that have come in, for the little woman has worried considerably over the number and amounts. I got in a pretty good check several days ago, but I'll not give any gifts this year—the money must go to pay these extra expenses that have been inevitable. I wish you'd see to it that Wifey has as big a bunch as possible of receipted bills. It's the best I can do this year, and you all understand.'"

"Wasn't it dear of him, Dick, and who but father would have thought of making a joke of something, which might seem to some, only a trying duty?"

"It just shows us again the sort of manly man father has always been; but Alice, I had an idea that it would be a nice thing to take that little poem father wrote to mother last Christmas—the one he presented with his gift—and have an illuminated copy made of it for mother's gift this Christmas. It pleased her so much at the time, and, in this form, it could be framed prettily and hung over her bed. You remember the lines—I have them in my pocket now."

He unfolded the sheet of paper, and handed it to Alice, who read aloud:

MY BEST CHRISTMAS GIFT.

"It's a beautiful idea, Dick, but it won't do now. There's too much pathos in it for this occasion. When I read the lines myself, I am blinded with tears, for I realize all too keenly that we may not have him another Christmas. Some time, it may be a great comfort to mother to have it. Keep the idea in mind and work it out some day."

So the little poem was folded up and laid away for another year.

IV.

Several days passed and grandfather seemed to improve. The spirit of Christmas pervaded everything, and even the invalid playfully asked Alsie if she could give him a hint as to what he might find in his sock on the eventful morning. Uncle Dick had been instructed to bring home all the Santa Claus posters that might be found in the newspaper office or bookshop, and there was already quite a stack of colored pictures on hand, showing Santa Claus in every stage of his wonderful yearly trip round the earth. Both Alices had spent some time selecting the little white Santa and sleigh for the top of the pie. The reindeer were hitched, tandem style, to the sleigh, harnessed and reined with the gayest red ribbon.

The packages and letters began to come, in considerable numbers, during the next few days, and several more "plums" were given into Alice's care, not to mention the dates, raisins, currants, and the like, for every check or coin was classified with the fruit, for the filling of the pie. It began to look as if that pie was to be a very rich one after all.

One morning, several days before Christmas, Mrs. Gordon came out of the sick-chamber, to the breakfast table, with a beaming face, saying:

"Captain Gordon spent the best night he has had in months, and he feels so bright and well that he wants to be brought into the library and rest awhile on the couch there."

What joy this announcement brought to them all! The rolling chair was drawn forth, and little Alsie led the way from one room to another with feet that fairly danced.

No ill effects followed the experiment, and it was repeated the next day with even greater success. It really appeared that some of the most persistent features of Captain Gordon's illness were yielding, perhaps, to the treatment—at any rate, the beloved invalid was better, and the leaden weight of apprehension, which had so burdened the hearts of each one of them, was disappearing and a