"It is a dreadful thing to be poor a fortnight before Christmas," said Clorinda, with the mournful sigh of seventeen years.

 

Aunt Emmy smiled. Aunt Emmy was sixty, and spent the hours she didn't spend in a bed, on a sofa or in a wheel chair; but Aunt Emmy was never heard to sigh.

 

"I suppose it is worse then than at any other time," she admitted.

 

That was one of the nice things about Aunt Emmy. She always sympathized and understood.

 

"I'm worse than poor this Christmas ... I'm stony¹ broke," said Clorinda dolefully. "My spell of fever in the summer and the consequent doctor's bills have cleaned out my coffers completely. Not a single Christmas present can I give. And I did so want to give some little thing to each of my dearest people. But I simply can't afford it ... that's the hateful, ugly truth."

 

Clorinda sighed again.

 

"The gifts which money can purchase are not the only ones we can give," said Aunt Emmy gently, "nor the best, either."

 

"Oh, I know it's nicer to give something of your own work," agreed Clorinda, "but materials for fancy work cost too. That kind of gift is just as much out of the question for me as any other."

 

"That was not what I meant," said Aunt Emmy.

 

"What did you mean, then?" asked Clorinda, looking puzzled.

 

Aunt Emmy smiled.

 

"Suppose you think out my meaning for yourself," she said. "That would be better than if I explained it. Besides, I don't think I could explain it. Take the beautiful line of a beautiful poem to help you in your thinking out: 'The gift without the giver is bare.'"

 

"I'd put it the other way and say, 'The giver without the gift is bare,'" said Clorinda, with a grimace². "That is my predicament exactly. Well, I hope by next Christmas I'll not be quite bankrupt. I'm going into Mr. Callender's store down at Murraybridge in February. He has offered me the place, you know."

 

"Won't your aunt miss you terribly?" said Aunt Emmy gravely.

 

Clorinda flushed. There was a note in Aunt Emmy's voice that disturbed her.

 

"Oh, yes, I suppose she will," she answered hurriedly. "But she'll get used to it very soon. And I will be home every Saturday night, you know. I'm dreadfully tired of being poor, Aunt Emmy, and now that I have a chance to earn something for myself I mean to take it. I can help Aunt Mary, too. I'm to get four dollars a week."

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