as he could, and munched the toast without speaking another word. After he had finished, Mrs. Darling brought him a pad and pencil.

"Here, Your Majesty," she said, smiling, "write down your commands." The little boy's eyes brightened, and he looked up at her shyly.

"You don't mind playing it, do you?" he asked. "Mind! Why, I guess it will do us all a world of good, old as we are," she said.

Of course after that, there was nothing for him to do but to write down, in a shaky hand, his commands.

"Cut down the highest tree in the forest," he wrote first. "It must be so high and so strong that it takes three men to chop it down. Then carry it into the banquet-hall and set it up." Here he stopped. "Do you suppose we can have the hat-tree, Mrs. Darling?" he asked.

"You can have anything you want," she said firmly.

"Order the Great-High-Tree-Trimmer, Sir Patrick, to enter, and to hang the gold and silver bells on the tree, and to light the candles- We can pretend the hat-tree has candles on it, can't we?" he paused to ask.

"Of course we can," she assured him. "Then light the- What was it they burned at Christmas, Mrs. Darling?"

"The Yule log."

"Yes. Light the Yule log, and pile up the presents under the tree-all kinds-whatever any one has ever wished for in the world. Then hang the stockings on the mantel, and let the Great-HighFiller, Lady Nora, fill them with toys and books and-and-electric engines. Then let the doors be flung open and the guests enter. There!" he said, with a little sigh, "that 's all."

"That 's enough for to-night," said Mrs. Darling, looking at his flushed cheeks. "Just put your seal to it."

The little boy solemnly wrote "Rex," just as he had seen it done in books, and handed the paper to Mrs. Darling with a smile.

"It will be a-a glorious-Christmas," he said bravely; "just a glorious one!" Then he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, for he was suddenly very tired.

HAVE you ever awakened on Christmas morning, with the cold clear sunlight slanting across your floor, and the blue sky peeking in your window, and yet not even felt the least bit glad it was Christmas? The little boy opened his eyes and looked around as though he half expected to see a bursting stocking, and to hear his moth- He jerked over on his side. Even if it was Christmas morning, what was to prevent a fellow from

taking another nap! But something hot and wet slid down his cheek, before he could stop it, and, as long as there was n't any one around, it did n't make so much difference. But the little boy brushed it angrily away and sat up in bed.

"Merry Christmas!" he said fiercely to the table in the corner. "Merry Christmas!" and he lay back on his pillows with his eyes fixed on the ceiling and his lip between his teeth. Somebody was whistling in the lower corridor. He could hear it quite distinctly, and it sounded so glad and cheerful that the little boy slid to the floor, although his legs wabbled under him, and opened the door.

"Hullo, down there!" he called over the banisters. "Merry Christmas!"

"Hullo, up there!" came back old Patrick's cracked voice. "Merry Christmas, Your Maj

esty."

The little boy laughed out loud. "Patrick, Patrick, do come up! How did you know to call me that?"

"Sure, Your Majesty, I'll be there as soon as I mop up the last few steps. Git back into bed, and I'll come and pay you me respects."

The little boy climbed back gladly under the warm covers and waited for the old man, his eyes shining eagerly.

Patrick thumped heavily up the stairs, then rapped loudly on the little boy's door.

"You may enter," said the little boy, stiffly, though he did giggle just the least bit, for old Patrick had pulled off his cap and shuffled in with his head bent.

"The top o' th' mornin' to Your Majesty!" he said, his eyes twinkling.

"The same to you, Sir Patrick. Have you cut down the-the highest tree?"

"Sure, and it 's so high that I 'm after thinkin' the little people have bewitched it."

"And-and where have they put it?" "Right beside your throne, Your Majesty." "Oh," said the little boy, with a gasp, "I forgot about having a throne! Is n't that fine!" "And the ceremonies are to begin immejetly after your royal breakfast."

"But, Patrick-Sir Patrick, I mean,- -can we have the chestnuts you picked?”

"Sure thirty men have been gatherin' chestnuts for Your Majesty since yesterday mornin'-and the chief cook is roastin' 'em on the kitchen stove."

"Oh-oh-and when can we have the feast?" "Whin every one 's wished for whatever they wants the most in the world," said old Patrick, with never a smile, "and not a minute before!" "What do you mean?"

"Just that, Your Majesty; just that!" he said solemnly as he backed out of the room.

"Oh, wait, Sir Patrick!" the little boy cried. "I can't wait, Your Majesty, for there 's much to be done, includin' shovelin' the snow off the front path." And with a

wave of his hand he was gone.

The little boy bombarded Mrs. Darling with questions when she appeared with his breakfast.

"What did Patrick mean? When are we going to begin? Oh, whatever does Patrick, and Nora, and the cook want for Christmas? What do you suppose I can give them that will make them ever so happy?"

Your

"Help! help! Majesty!" cried Mrs. Darling, putting her hands over her ears. But the little boy persisted.

"Please, could n't I give them something?"

"Well," said Mrs. Darling, importantly, "if you won't tell, I have a present for each one of them."

"Oh, but you had them to give yourself!"

"It does n't matter who gives things, Your Majesty, so long as people get them. It's the getting them that counts."

The little boy nodded gravely. There was a great deal in that. And he waited for Mrs. Darling to continue.

"There are a pair of heavy woolen mittens for - Patrick to keep his hands

"As for me," she said carelessly, "I don't expect to get anything- let alone what I really want and need most of anything in the world."

"W-what do you need?" asked the little boy, eagerly, entirely forgetting about his breakfast.

warm all winter, and for Nora a red scarf of just the right shade to set off her black hair and eyes. For the cook there is a stout new pair of overshoes, hers being worn to the very sole."

But still the little boy was not satisfied. Mrs. Darling saw it in his eyes, and she guessed the

reason.

Mrs. Darling shrugged her shoulders. "It 's something I have use for every day, and nobody could be expected to think of it."

The little boy hitched his shoulders impatiently. "It 's fun telling what you want, anyhow," he said.

"Well, then, I never can remember the things I have to do without putting them down on a pad,

and I never have a pad handy. If only some one would string some sheets of paper together for me to scribble things on. But what 's the use of talking! Whoever would think of such a thing!"

The little boy smothered a laugh the best way he could, and tried to look very solemn while Mrs. Darling lifted the tray off his knees.

"The packages have all got to be tied up, and, although I have n't a bit of red ribbon, pink and blue will do every bit as well," she said.

"Yes," agreed the little boy, "only-only don't come back for-about half an hour, will you? I want to write to-well, some letters, you know."

Mrs. Darling nodded, and closed the door softly behind her.

Of course, when you have only half an hour to make a whole Christmas present, it behooves you to hurry. The little boy reached over for his dressing-gown and slipped his arms into it, then drew on his slippers. He remembered his arithmetic pad--or, rather, there had been an arithmetic pad before he was taken ill-and it ought to be in his desk drawer, behind the French Grammar. He opened the drawer and pushed aside the French Grammar with a shout, for there lay the pad! He lifted it out, and, as he did so, something slipped from its pages. It was a letter. He knew the writing, even if he had not recognized the foreign stamp. He stood very still, staring at it where it had fallen, a white blur, on the floor. Then he winked his eyes hard and picked it up.

"My darling little son," it ran, "if I could only be with you this-"

"Pshaw!" he said huskily, "it costs so much to come!" And he turned his back abruptly on the desk without another word.

When Mrs. Darling knocked at the door, a short time later, there was a long pause before a hurried "Come in," replied.

The little boy looked very uncomfortable, as though he were just about to be caught doing something he should n't do, and there was a look about one of his pillows as though something had been hastily stuffed beneath it. Mrs. Darling's arms were full of packages and paper, besides a quantity of pink and blue ribbon which gave her very much the appearance of a Maypole.

"Will Your Royal Majesty fasten up the presents now?" she asked.

"Yes," said the little boy, gravely; "but how about the stockings? There must be stockings." "The stockings are already hung by the mantelpiece in the study, just as Your Majesty commanded, and Lady Nora is filling them with fudge

and nuts and apples, besides a sprinkling of ginger cookies, that she made at the last minute." "O-o-oh!" cried the little boy; "how splendid!" "And Sir Patrick is trimming up the tree with great boughs of evergreen."

The little boy's face was radiant.

"And nobody knows what they 're going to

get?"

"I should say not!" said Mrs. Darling; "although I heard Nora wishing for a red scarf a few minutes ago.”

Then the little boy set to work. There are any quantity of ways to tie up Christmas presents so that they will look as though they were full of your heart's desire. Of course to do that you must have tissue-paper that is soft and crinkly, and red red ribbon, besides a sprig of holly to lay across the top. The little boy had only stiff brown paper, but it did very well, for it bulged out in places where it should n't have, and made the packages look a great deal more imposing than they really were.

Mrs. Darling insisted on his getting dressed after that. There was a very best suit in the closet that he had not worn for weeks, and he slipped it on, although it hung rather loosely. upon him.

"Kings always have to dress up," she explained; "that 's one of the worst things about being a king." So the little boy submitted to having his hair brushed and his face washed, although he would a great deal rather have been left alone to finish his present.

"Of course you can't go down into the study until the feast is ready," she said. "You see, every one is getting dressed for it, including old Patrick himself, so as to be fit to enter the banquet-hall."

The little boy nodded. He understood exactly how one must appear before a king, and he felt just a little sorry for Patrick and the rest. Mrs. Darling gathered up the packages.

"Nora is going to hang them on the tree," she explained, "and when the guests have all assembled, why, then I'll send the heralds to escort you to your court."

After Mrs. Darling had left him, he sat still a long time, listening to the hum of voices in the lower corridor. There was an excitement in the air, something that seemed to hum and throb and thrill. Perhaps it was the sweet smell of the cranberry sauce that was wafted up to him, or perhaps it was Nora's shrill whispering, but it was there a great unknown something that sent the little boy's pulses leaping.

After a while, he heard some one stamping up the stairs.

"Sure and is the king ready for the feast?" called out Patrick's voice.

"Yes, oh, yes!" said the little boy, breathlessly; "but, Patrick, Patrick, do hang this on the tree for Mrs. Darling, won't-"

He stopped short, for at his door stood a bow

loyal subjects. It was a very serious matter to him, and though his mouth would curl at the corners when they fell out of step, his eyes were very grave, and he bowed his head first to Mrs. Darling, then to the cook, who awaited him at the foot of the stairs.

ing Patrick in a shabby black suit, and a curtseying Nora in a bright blue dress. Between them they held a cushion. The little boy recognized it. It was one of the green plush cushions from the headmaster's couch, and he laughed aloud.

"If you'll be climbin' on the pillow," said Nora, as they lowered it between them, "we 'll be carryin' you to the feast."

Somehow when the little boy-white and fair and eager-was perched on the cushion, he did look like a flaxen-haired little king, between two

"Three cheers for the king!" shouted old Patrick, at the top of his voice.

"Three cheers!" they called. "Let the king make a speech," cried Patrick, and Mrs. Darling echoed, "Speech!"

"Oh!" cried the little boy. Then he recovered himself, and his eyes wandered over their heads, beyond, to the closed door. "Dear, dear people," he said, in a hurried, breathless sort of way, "may this be the-the-merriest Christmas you have ever had. May you get whatever you want-even if it is the impossiblest thing in the worldeven if it-it-costs SO much-"

"Ah hah!" cried Patrick, quite forgetting that a king must never be interrupted, no matter how long he takes. "Ah hah, it's a pair of gloves I 'm wishin' for, but never a glove will I get!"

"And as for me," cried Mrs. Darling, "His Majesty is the only one who knows what I want, and that 's quite enough, seeing it's such a hopeless thing!"

"It's a beautiful rid shawl I 'm after wantin'," sighed Nora; "but it's niver a rid shawl I'll see this Christmas-"

"And I need a pair of overshoes the worst way," said the cook, smiling; "but whoever would think of that!"

"Oh!" cried the little boy, his eyes shining with gladness. "Oh! now we can surely go to the feast, for every one 's wished for what they want most in the world-do hurry and open the door!"

"Wait!" said old Patrick, raising his hand, "I have n't heard His Majesty askin' for a thingI-"

"But kings, Patrick-kings don't ever get things, they all the time give them!"

"This is Christmas, Your Majesty, and before that door is opened, every one, king included, wishes for the thing he wants most. Quick now -what'll you have?"

"Oh," said the little boy, suddenly shrinking, "please-please-"

"Go on, Your Majesty," said Patrick, firmly, "for until you wish the feast stays on the other side of the door."

"Oh-oh-" the little boy covered his face, "I -I-must n't even think about it-and-and I'm trying-"

"Is it a ball you 're wantin'?" "Oh, no!"

"A steam-engine?"

long ago, instid of keepin' her sittin' here and waitin' for you full half an hour-"

LATE that night, after Nora, with her red scarf over her shoulders, had gathered up the remains of the Christmas feast, and only a low, red, cozy light gleamed beneath the burnt-out logs, the little boy raised his head from his mother's shoulder and laid his hand on her cheek.

"But it cost so much to come!" he said softly, with a little shake in his voice. She drew him down in her arms, with a way mothers have.

"Look!" she whispered, "there 's the last spark! Wish-quick-wish!"

"I wish," he said slowly, "I wish every girl and boy in the world has had as happy a Christmas as I have. I wish-"

But he did n't get any farther, for the tiny red spark went out quite gently, as if it did not want at all to disturb th little boy in No. 60 and his mother.

THE curious ring I had found formed the chief topic of conversation for some time after its discovery. No one could doubt Mrs. Mummer, who vowed again and again that she herself had prepared all that went into her wonderful cake, reminding me particularly of the fact that she had even refused my offer to help her seed the raisins.

"'T is nigh witchcraft," she declared. “Except that I had seen it with my own eyes, I could never have believed it possible."

Nor did an examination of the ring itself bring the mystery any nearer solution. Rather was it deepened, for 't was no common ornament such as might be come by at any goldsmith's shop. A number of costly jewels were set into the wrought gold, all cut in an odd fashion which proclaimed their antiquity.

""T is no ordinary ring," said His Excellency, General Washington, mounting great hornrimmed spectacles, through which he examined. it; "and I should say that he who last had it

lacked a good conscience, since he parted with it at all."

He handed it to Lady Washington, who, with her head on one side, regarded it curiously.

"La, child!" she laughed, handing it back to me, "if the device upon the seal has any worth, 't would take no great prophet to foretell what will come of it."

"Is it not a savage?" I questioned, gazing at the cutting in the stone on the top of the circle. "Mayhap some have called him that," she answered gaily, and I made my curtsey, puzzling over her words.

I liked the sensation the ring was creating, and, childlike, felt very important over all the notice being taken of it; but it was too large to fit the thickest of my slim fingers, and not to be able to wear it would be a sore trial. Bee, however, brought back my smiles by winding yards of linen thread about the under side, and, though two of the stones were covered, there was no longer danger of its slipping off. No doubt there was many a smile at so huge a ring on so small a hand, but I cared naught for that, being assured that it looked most elegant and fashionable.