She did not see the face peering at her through
the curtains, a face which scanned her own half wistfully. What was to
become of Miranda? The little girl thrust the package under her ragged coat
and ran away down the street as fast as her legs could take her.
"A thief!" cried Miss Terry. "That is the climax. I have detected a child
taking what she knew did not belong to her, on Christmas Eve! Where are all
their Sunday School lessons and their social improvement classes? I knew
it! This Christmas spirit that one hears so much about is nothing but an
empty sham. I have proved it to my satisfaction to-night. I will burn the
rest of these toys, every one of them, and then go to bed. It is too
disgusting! She was a nice-looking child, too. Poor old Miranda!"
With something like a sigh Miss Terry strode back to the fire, where the
play box stood gaping. She had made but a small inroad upon its heaped-up
treasures. She threw herself listlessly into the chair and began to pull
over the things. Broken games and animals, dolls' dresses painfully
tailored by unskilled fingers, disjointed members,--sorry relics of past
pleasures,--one by one Miss Terry seized them between disdainful thumb and
finger and tossed them into the fire.
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