“A LITTLE CHILD SHALL LEAD THEM”
By
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The snow swirled against the window in great gusts. Agatha Brewster sat looking into the flaming grate.
“What’s the matter, mamma dear?” asked Betty, her little daughter. “You look so sad—and this is Christmas eve.”
Agatha did not answer. She could not trust her voice. There was a mist before her eyes. She sat there thinking, thinking, thinking. It was just a year ago tonight that Dave, her husband, had parted from her in anger. Since then no word, no letter—nothing but endless conferences with that hideous lawyer, the unbearable condolences of well-meaning friends, the dull heart-ache, the thought of little Betty....
Betty crept noiselessly down the stairs.
“Papa! Oh, papa! My papa!” she cried. “You’ve come home again. Won’t Santa Claus be glad!”
Brewster, his eyes suddenly blinded with tears, grabbed the sweet child to his breast and hugged her, oh, so close! And then, bending down, he kissed the brave little woman at his side.
The End.
If you want to read the parts of this story that have been left out to save ink, you will find the whole thing in any issue of any 15 cent magazine. I say any issue, but if you want to make doubly sure, get any Christmas issue.