On the last evening in which they were to remain in the old house, their sad thoughts were broken in upon by a ring at the bell.
“Can they not even leave us to enjoy the last evening in quiet?” said Charles, half petulantly.
Immediately afterwards, there entered a young man, in whom Mr. Dinsmoor recognized the purchaser of the house.
“I need not bid you welcome,” said he, smiling faintly, “since you have a better right here now than myself. Had I been told, three months since, that this would be, I would not have believed it; but we cannot always foresee. I shall be prepared to leave to-morrow.”
“I shall be better satisfied if you will remain,” said the young man, bowing.
“What do you mean?”
“Simply, that as this house and furniture are now mine, to do with as I like, I choose to restore you the latter, and offer you the use of the former, rent free, as long as you choose to occupy it.”
“Who, then, are you,” asked Mr. Dinsmoor, in increasing surprise, “who can be so kind to utter strangers, with no claim upon you?”
“You are mistaken. You have a claim upon me. Shall I tell you what it is? Eleven years ago to-morrow,—for to-morrow is Christmas Day,—a poor boy, who had known none of the luxuries, and but few of the comforts, of life, stood in this street. His mind was ill at ease; for he had lost his way: but, as he walked on, he beheld a blaze of light issuing from a window,—from your window,—and, aroused by curiosity, he looked in. Around a Christmas-tree, brilliant with light, a happy group were assembled. As he stood gazing in, he heard the front door open; and a gentleman came out, and kindly invited him to enter. He did so; and the words of kindness and the Christmas gift with which he departed have not yet left his remembrance. Seven years passed, and the boy’s fortune changed. An uncle, long supposed to be dead, found him out, and, when he actually died, left him the heir of a large amount of wealth. Need I say that I am that boy, and that my name is Willie Grant?”
The reader’s imagination can easily supply the rest. Provided with capital by his young friend, Mr. Dinsmoor again embarked in business; and, this time, nothing occurred to check his prosperity. Charlie did not leave college, nor did Lizzie lose her piano. She gained a husband, however, and had no reason to regret the train of events which issued from her Christmas Gift.