8 ACORN She hurried into the room indicated and found her friend huddled in a knot before the window and tapping restlessly on the arm of her chair. Gertrude jumped and exclaimed, "I'm so glad to see you. I want" Marion interrupted her. "I've got a letter from Fred. He's coming home for New Year and is going to bring" "From Fred?" The listener's cheeks reddened. Marion nodded. "Who is he going to bring with him?" "Harold," was the brief reply. "And for New Year. Aren't you glad?" "I am always glad to see my brother," Marion answered, avoiding Gertrude's eyes. just then they were interrupted by a sharp cry. "Marion! Gertrude! Sarah!" screamed Sylvia. "Call the doctor; quick! Molly has sprained her ankle." The girls aided Sylvia in carrying the injured girl to her room and it was not long after the doctor left before she was jesting and laughing with the others. "This must not spoil our plans for the evening. You all get ready and I'll stay home with Molly," suggested Marion. There was a murmur of complaint, but it was soon quieted, and it was not long before the crowd was on its way to the party. As soon as Molly was resting well, Marion went down to the sitting room and sought consolation by the friendly fire-place. She looked up at the face of the clock and tried to count the hours, minutes and seconds before New Year's day and New Year's day meant Harold Tremont. "Are you trying to stare it out?" Marion started. "Harold!" she exclaimed as she caught sight of the tall, dark, handsome young man, "why did you come so soon? Where is Fred." "One question at a time, please," he laughed, "I left Fred at Gertrude's. I came to surprise you on Christmas because I was lonesome; and you?" "I was lonesome, too," she answered. VERNA MALAN, '13. Life is not for ambition, not for glory, Nor empty praise in legend, song or story; It is to live, to do, nor reason ask to know, Why this day of preparation ere we go. BECKY. ACORN 9 The Christmas Stocking Hail! to thee, source of childish joy, What power thou hast to delight The children when on Christmas morn Thy treasures are brought to the light; They laugh as they count each present Left there by the good saint, of course; Each baby face is wreathed in smiles, And. thou of this joy art the source. Come back, O days of my childhood, Again let me know that delight When taking my precious stocking I poured out its treasures so bright; The days of childhood are over, They vanished and left me too soon, For still 'round the Christmas stocking In my heart, for-get-me-nots bloom. BECKY, 12.