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On every one of those neat parcels, above his own name, was written in his big crooked, childish hand, “Jenny Brown, from–” Earl Munroe had not saved one Christmas-present for himself.

Pulling along, his eyes brilliant, his cheeks glowing, he met Maud Barker. She was Judge Barker’s daughter, and the girl who had joined him in advising Jenny to hunt on the mountain for the Christmas-tree.

Maud stepped along, placing her trim little feet with dainty precision; she wore some new high-buttoned overshoes. She also carried a new beaver muff, but in one hand only. The other dangled mittenless at her side; it was pink with cold, but on its third finger sparkled a new gold ring with a blue stone in it.

“Oh, Earl!” she called out, “have they found Jenny Brown? I was going up to your house to–Why, Earl Munroe, what have you got there?”

“I’m carrying up my Christmas-presents and the tree up to Jenny’s–so she’ll find ’em when she comes back,” said the boy, flushing red. There was a little defiant choke in his voice.

“Why, what for?”

“I rather think they belong to her more’n they do to me, after what’s happened.”

“Does your mother know?”

“No; she wouldn’t care. She’d think I was only doing what I ought.”

“All of ’em?” queried Maud, feebly.

“You don’t s’pose I’d keep any back?”

Maud stood staring. It was beyond her little philosophy.

Earl was passing on when a thought struck him.

“Say, Maud,” he cried, eagerly, “haven’t you something you can put in? Girls’ things might please her better, you know. Some of mine are–rather queer, I’m afraid.”

“What have you got?” demanded Maud.

“Well, some of the things are well enough. There’s a lot of candy and oranges and figs and books; there’s one by Jules Verne I guess she’ll like; but there’s a great big jack-knife, and–a brown velvet bicycle suit?”

“Why, Earl Munroe! what could she do with a bicycle suit?”

“I thought, maybe, she could rip the seams to ’em, an’ sew ’em some way, an’ get a basque cut, or something. Don’t you s’pose she could?” Earl asked, anxiously.

“I don’t know; her mother could tell,” said Maud.

“Well, I’ll hang it on, anyhow. Maud, haven’t you anything to give her?”

“I–don’t know.”

Earl eyed her sharply. “Isn’t that muff new?”

“Yes.”

“And that ring?”

Maud nodded. “She’d be delighted with ’em. Oh, Maud, put ’em in!”

Maud looked at him. Her pretty mouth quivered a little; some tears twinkled in her blue eyes.

“I don’t believe my mother would let me,” faltered she. “You–come with me, and I’ll ask her.”

“All right,” said Earl, with a tug at his sled-rope.

He waited with his load in front of Maud’s house until she came forth radiant, lugging a big basket. She had her last winter’s red cashmere dress, a hood, some mittens, cake and biscuit, and nice slices of cold meat.

“Mother said these would be much more suitable for her,” said Maud, with a funny little imitation of her mother’s manner.

Over across the street another girl stood at the gate, waiting for news.

“Have they found her?” she cried. “Where are you going with all those things?”

Somehow, Earl’s generous, romantic impulse spread like an epidemic. This little girl soon came flying out with her contribution; then there were more–quite a little procession filed finally down the road to Jenny Brown’s house.

The terrible possibilities of the case never occurred to them. The idea never entered their heads that little, innocent, trustful Jenny might never come home to see that Christmas-tree which they set up in her poor home.

It was with no surprise whatever that they saw, about noon, Mr. Munroe’s sleigh, containing Jenny and her mother and Mrs. Munroe, drive up to the door.

Afterwards they heard how a wood-cutter had found Jenny crying, over on the east side of the mountain, at sunset, and had taken her home with him. He lived five miles from the village, and was an old man, not able to walk so far that night to tell them of her safety. His wife had been very good to the child. About eleven o’clock some of the searchers had met the old man plodding along the mountain-road with the news.

They did not stop for this now. They shouted to Jenny to “come in, quick!” They pulled her with soft violence into the room where they had been at work. Then the child stood with her hands clasped, staring at the Christmas-tree. All too far away had she been searching for it. The Christmas-tree grew not on the wild mountainside, in the lonely woods, but at home, close to warm, loving hearts; and that was where she found it.