Mrs. Wiggs of the Cabbage Patch

								

do over on the avenue, where you dassent pick a one; but they was
God's, an' you was welcome to all you could pull. An' there was
trees, Jim, where you could climb up an' git big red apples, an'
when the frost 'ud come they'd be persimmons that 'ud jes' melt in
yer mouth. An' you could look 'way off 'crost the meaders, an' see
the trees a-wavin' in the sunshine, an' up over yer head the birds
'ud be singin' like they was never goin' to stop. An' yer pa an' me
'ud take you out at the harvestin' time, an' you 'ud play on the
hay-stacks. I kin remember jes' how you looked, Jim--a fat little
boy, with red cheeks a-laughin' all the time."
Mrs. Wiggs could tell no more, for the old memories were too much
for her. Jim scarcely knew when she stopped; his eyes were half
closed, and a sweet drowsiness was upon him.
"It's nice an' warm in the sunshine," he murmured; "the meaders an'
trees--laughin' all the time! Birds singin', singin', singin'."
Then Jim began to sing too, softly and monotonously, and the sorrow
that had not come with years left his tired face, and he fearlessly
drifted away into the Shadowy Valley where his lost childhood lay.

CHAPTER III
THE "CHRISTMAS LADY"



    "The rosy glow of summer

    Is on thy dimpled cheek,

    While in thy heart the winter

    Is lying cold and bleak.



    "But this shall change hereafter,

    When years have done their part,

    And on thy cheek the wintered

    And summer in thy heart."
LATE the next afternoon a man and a girl were standing in the Olcott
reception hall. The lamps had not been lighted, but the blaze from
the back-log threw a cozy glow of comfort over the crimson curtains
and on the mass of bright-hued pillows in the window-seat.
Robert Redding, standing with his hat in his hand, would have been
gone long ago if the "Christmas Lady" had not worn her violet gown.
He said it always took him half an hour to say good-by when she wore
a rose in her hair, and a full hour when she had on the violet
dress.
"By Jove, stand there a minute just as you are! The fire-light
shining through your hair makes you look like a saint. Little Saint
Lucinda!" he said teasingly, as he tried to catch her hand. She put
it behind her for safe-keeping.
"Not a saint at all?" he went on, in mock surprise; "then an
iceberg--a nice, proper little iceberg."
Lucy Olcott looked up at him for a moment in silence; he was very
tall and straight, and his face retained much of its boyishness, in
spite of the firm, square jaw.
"Robert," she said, suddenly grown serious, "I wish you would do
something for me."
"All right; what is it?" he asked.
She timidly put her hand on his, and looked up at him earnestly.
"It's about Dick Harris," she said. "I wish you would not be with
him so much."
Redding's face clouded. "You aren't afraid to trust me?" he asked.
"Oh, no; it isn't that," she said hurriedly; "but, Robert, it makes
people think such wrong things about you; I can't bear to have you