2 THE ACORN The day when December paints bliss on each ember, While stockings in deep expectation, Serve sweet-meats and toys that comply with the joys Of a Christmas eve's anticipation. Utah's father and son are enlivened with fun As are also the sister and mother; Aunts, uncles, and wives flock as bees in the hives, Each to hum a good word to the other. As the Savior of old, let us always uphold The good works of our generous neighbors; Let naught come between the reward we would glean As the honest results of our labors. "By our fruits are we known", and a bright light has shown Us the road whereon Wisdom must trample; Merry Christmas extends a warm hand to all friends Since the Savior set forth the example. W. E. THE ACORN 3 Celia's Homecoming "Yes,"said the professor convincingly, "Miss Celia certainly has shown a considerable bit of talent. Now Madame Tresseau is asking for just such a one. I have shown her some of Celia's sketches and she has expressed a desire to see her. She wants her to become her helper and model. She will be given a chance to use her individuality, and I have no doubt that with a little actual experience she will be recognized as a rising artist." "And paint for the public, and model!" cried Celia almost incredulously. "Yes, my dear." The professor turned to Mother "What do you say to the proposition, Mrs. Ash-ton?" One swift glance at Mother told me her thoughts. I answered: "It's such a long way. Celia has never been away from home in her life and it will be almost impossible for her to come home very often." "Once or twice a year" said the professor, "What do you think, Celia?" Celia looked dubiously from Mother to the professor, then answered slowly, "I should like to go but" "Afraid you will get homesick?" teased the professor, "Why you'll get used to it. Now when I was studying in Paris I never came home for eight years." "Oh" gasped Celia, "It must have been awful," then brightening "but I can come home oftener than that. What do you think, Mother?' "It will be lonesome for me with neither of you home, Madge away teaching and you painting. I can't make up my mind to let you go." For once Celia was determined. She even said she'd sweep the streets to get her train fare if mother wouldn't let her go. I tried to dissuade her but all to no purpose. "What," she cried, "am I not to have my talents developed as much as you, yours? I may become famous!" Poor little sister she had forgotten her heroes and the dragging years consumed in the making of famous men; it looked all bright and clear to her now. She built many an air castle which has long since crumbled and blown away, but as she sat dreaming, there appeared no imaginary absurdity, only pictures, vivid and realistic. So it was decided, and two weeks later, Celia bade us goodbye. Little did we dream for how long that goodbye meant. The months and years crowded upon us but Celia still remained at the studio. Her letters always spoke of success and yet, as though hidden from us, a note of longing for home. We