One of the events of Christmas day had always been the visit to Mrs. Hunt, for this usually meant the best of the day's doings, and Marian was always in a hurry to get off, but this time she was not in such haste, for she liked to linger over her delightful stocking, and enjoyed trying her typewriter while her grandfather showed her how to use it. So it was not till her elders set out for church that she was ready. Her cough shut her out of any churchgoing for a while, but she begged to wear her new furs to show Mrs. Hunt, and was given consent.
The church bells were all ringing as she entered Mrs. Hunt's door. "I thought you wouldn't get here at all," said Mrs. Hunt in response to Marian's "Merry Christmas!" "I was getting real anxious about you. Come right in out of the cold. What made you so late, chickadee?"
"Because it has been such a glad morning," Marian answered. "I don't care anything about moving mountains any more, though it would have been nice to have a tree, too."
"It would, would it? Well, I don't know. Is that for me?" as Marian presented the book of photographs. "Well, I declare, isn't that you all over? This is a Christmas gift worth having. What a Miss Dorothy it is. Come, kiss me, dearie, you couldn't have given me anything I like better. Now tell me what has made you so glad."
Then Marian displayed her stocking and her furs, and was describing her typewriter when Mrs. Hunt said: "Then I suppose you won't care about what I have for you."
"Oh, Auntie Hunt, you know I always care," returned Marian reproachfully. "I never had a Christmas stocking before, and I did so want furs."
"Bless her dear heart! Auntie Hunt was only teasing you a little. Well, I don't believe what I have will wait much longer, so perhaps we'd better go look at it." And she led the way to the parlor.
Marian wondered at this, for she was not such a stranger as to be taken there even upon such a day as Christmas. What could Mrs. Hunt have in there that she couldn't bring into the sitting-room? She had always had Marian's present and her little basket of goodies set on a side table and why must they be in the parlor to-day? She wondered, too, why Mrs. Hunt fumbled at the door-knob and rattled it a little before she went in, but when she saw at the end of the room a bright and dazzling Christmas tree, she forgot all else. It was such a glittering, shining affair, all wonderful ornaments and gleaming tinsel, and was a joy to look upon, from the flying angel at the tip-top to the group of sheep on a mossy pasture at the foot. The impossible had happened. Faith and works had triumphed. The might of the mustard seed's strength had been proved, and Marian dropped on her knees before the marvelous vision. "Oh, I am so happy, Lord. I am so much obliged to you for your loving-kindness," she breathed.
"That's just like her," said Mrs. Hunt nodding her head as if to some one behind her. "You are pleased, aren't you, chickadee? Well, now, who do you think gave you all those pretty things? Mr. Hunt cut the tree and brought the moss, I'm ready to confess. I helped with the trimming, but who did the rest?"
"Miss Dorothy," promptly replied Marian.