10 THE ACORN How Christmas Made the Lily In the busy city of New York, on the corner of one of its most beautiful streets, we find a large mansion, massive in structure and beautiful for the artist to behold. Everything about it presents not only a picture of elaborateness, but also one of neatness and consideration. Above the carved oak doors, we see the inscription, "P. W. McClair." All of the wealthy men of the city know this man, by his name, if not through intimate acquaintance. Their dealings with him either personally, or through agents, have given them a high regard for him. A man said one evening, while sitting with his family about the hearth fire, "I wouldn't mind being as wealthy as Mr. McClair is; and not only that, but have the good common sense as well, for I believe I've never dealt with another man quite so reliable. Mr. McClair was indeed a wealthy banker and besides this he also had stock in other productive enterprises, but for all that he couldn't dispell the thought, "What I might have done." What could he have done with his wealth? He pondered as he sat in his library, turning and sorting his papers. Yes he could have helped the poor, founded a library and a school for orphans or invalids. This he could do now, and would do. But the one great problem that was yet unsolved was the training of his only child Mildred. How he would like her to become a woman with that sovereign sweetness and purity printed upon her face, even like the Madonnas of Raphael. She was a sweet girl when compared with the society girls of the city. Yes, she could be compared favorably, but was that saying the most? Then his thoughts wandered to the beautiful home in the outskirts of the city, where he might have been. How the very atmosphere there would would give renewed life to the body and gladness to the heart. Then he fancied he could see Mildred roaming around the hot house lilies and roses, now stopping to smell the perfume of the half closed buds and, at the same time, plucking some daisies twined with the smilax at her feet. This unmolested life could surely keep within his darling child a love for the beautiful, whence comes many other noble characteristics. She could bud and bloom with the lilies, and be like them yes in the winter time. But how could he expect to develop such an angel in the sultry city? Was she not as pure and white a lily as the smoky atmosphere would permit? His thoughts at this point, were disconnected by his wife's call for luncheon. As Mr. McClair was always very prompt in attending to his meals, his presence was so much missed at the usual hour, that his THE ACORN 11 wife had come for him. She knocked on the door, but no response came, Another knock, and this time the door was opened by Mr. McClair, who was wiping his brow with his handkerchief. "Well I didn't realize it was so late!" responded Mr. McClair, "I must have been here three or four hours, haven't I?" "Yes, it's about that long, judging from the energy that must have been put forth," laughed Mrs. McClair heartily; "but come now and have luncheon; you look so tired and worn." Now changing the subject. Mildred has received a letter from her cousin Maud, who wants her to spend Christmas holidays with her. I have been trying to persuade Mildred to go as I think the country will be a healthful change from this clangor. "But you know how Mildred is," continued Mrs. McClair, "doesn't like to spend her liveliest holidays in the country, and then she knows she shall not like Maud's ways, Maud is so pious and all that; but I told her she couldn't help changing her opinions after knowing Maud." "And what did she say to that?" Mr. McClair inquired. She said, "Well I'll go if you think it best." They did think it best; and so preparations were made for Mildred to go to the country. The moment she entered the farmhouse door, there were loving ones awaiting to greet her. She found no time to wear an expres- sion of sadness; for too many hearts were light and gay. Her cousin was poor, financially; but rich and gracious in spirit, and she soon won Mildred's admiration and affection. In a few days the thought was not, "I shall be glad to go home; but, if I could only stay longer!" So many sleighing and skating parties could not be crowded in so short a time, then too, she could spend that time with just Maud alone, and then not see her enough. Such an air of grace and dignity Mildred had never seen in a girl before. So handsome too with her snow white face, and rosy cheeks and that playful dimple, when she smiled. "What a pretty little queen she would make going about our home," thought Mildred. "Yes, a living picture to pattern from. Her laughter, too, like music would never permit the shades of darkness to enter our door. Two years later found the girls at college, and still the dearest of friends. Mildred was using her wealth for a noble purpose, and it was blessing her who gave, and her who received. Mr. McClair was a younger and a happier man. He had contributed to the poor, founded a school for the orphans, and erected a library. He found no occasion to worry over, "what he might have done," and above all his lily was blooming pure and white in spite of the smoky city. Winifred Marriott.