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In the cosily-furnished sitting- rocm of a flat, situated near a busy London thoroughfare, a Wbman sat at a typewriter. Young as she was in yearsâ€"not yet thirty-her silver- streaked hair and the grave beauty of her face told of a life in which sorrow played no small part). And, indeed, Marion Dame’s story was a. sad one. Scarcely more than two years beâ€" fore she had counted herself the happiest woman in the world, with a husband who was still her lover and a child whom they united in spoiling. Then came the first blow â€"the loss of the little girlâ€"â€"a.nd it had seemed to Marion that life bould have no greater grief to give. All too soon came the bitter realizi Ltion of her mistake, when, but a. few months later, her husband was arrested on a charge of embezzling the moneys of his employer. That he was innocent she never doubted, but the circumstantial evidence was apparently conclusive, and he was sentenced to five years" penal servi- tud .- Five years! And little more than one had passed, spent in unremit- ting toil and strenuous but unavailâ€" ing endeavor to find the real culâ€" prit, for that her husband was guil- ty nothing but his word would have nonvinced her, and John Dane had protested his innocence to the end. The click of the typewriter ceased, for she had written a word which called up a crowd of memoriesâ€" “Christmas.” 'It was yery near now and for her it meant nothing but an added poignancy to her grief. Save for the old servant, Martha, who lived with her, she was quite alone in the world, and Christmas is the time when loneliness comes most home to those who tread a solitary path in life. She thought of the last wretched Christmas with a shiver, and then pictures of bygone joyous ones came to torture her. How happy they had been, poor as they were, for her husband was only a clerk. Her mind travelled to the gloomy prison whereâ€"herded with common crim- inalsâ€"he would spend the great fes- tival, and, With an angry little Ihake of rebuke to herself, she Ire- mmed her task. It was soon completed, and after reading and correcting the sheets she fastened them together and signed themâ€"after a moment’s he- sitationâ€"“John Leymond,” her husband’s Christian names. She had done this scores of times in similar circumstances, but never without the momentary pause and a passing doubt in her mind. “Surely it cannot be wrong?” she murmured. “I have learned all from him; the thoughts are his, the words are those he would use, and, until lately: even the plots were his own. Besides, it is the name that sells the work now, and his stories gained that.” .1 i¢M¢M~IWMMMXW~Â¥4M nuu Nov. -Vr. John Dane, like many others doomed to ignoble. drudgery, had pOSscssed ambition, and, partly to satisfy it and partly to augment a somewhat scanty salary, he had employed his evenings in literary work, only to discover that, though a. few authors may be born, most of them have to be made, and that rejected manuscripts accumulate with astounding rapidity. Of these apparently worthless productions, scarce a bare half-dozâ€" en now remained, for Marionâ€"who had unbounded faith in her hus- band’s abilityâ€"had turned to them in the hour of her need. Neatly typed out. they had, one by one, found resting places in various pa- pers or magazines, until with the publication, in book form, of a story which caught the public fancy, “John Laymond” achieved a mod- erate popularity, which was not de- creased by. the fact that no one knew anything of him, and that he resolutely declined to be interâ€" viewed. His wife transacted all his business. "TTo M;rion the thought thud; her husband would come opt: of Bfigon joy. It seemed something of a fit- ting revenge upon a social system which could condemn an innocent man to infamy; and now that what she had strive!) for since the ac- ceptance Hf the first story had beâ€" come an accomplished fact, she guarded her secret like a mixer “is gold. Directly her mean: «9.x a ruined man, disgraced for all time in the eyes of the world, and immeâ€" n‘iiately. by the mere sinking of his real name, become a person of some consideration, gave profound 3N*~Â¥%%MMM%Â¥W HIS CHRISTMAS GIFT Presently she went out to post her story, for which the editor of a great weekly periodical was impa- tiently waiting, and, having done this, she stood for a moment regard- ing the scene around her. It was not yet late, and the street was thronged with vehicles and pedesâ€" trians, many of the latter obviously engaged in Christmas shopping. She heard cheery greetings and good wishes on all sides, and the bright- lyâ€"lighted windows were crammed with festive wares. Even the very street lampswseenied to be infected and winked with a knowing air of good humor. Upon Marion the ef- fect was depressing; everybody seemed so happy, save she alone. she moved from the little suburban house to the flat in town, where she was known only as Mrs. Lay- mond. A moment later she reproached herself for the thought, as her gaze encountered a too-evident case of wretchedness. Standing before a provision shop, glaring into the window with almost ravenous eyes, was a, thin, shabby-dressed man, and by his side a golden-haired mite of about five, with a. pretty but sadly-pinched face. The child was warmly though poorly clad, but the man’s threadbare frock- ccat offered little resistance to the keen, frosty air, and he shivered visibly. Suddenly an empty, gailyâ€"decor- ated cigarette boxâ€"dropped from the top of a passing bus~attractâ€" ed the child’s attention and she ran into the road to secure it, heedless of an oncoming motor-car. Marion saw the danger, and, conscious only of the little one’s peril, rush- ed forward. Snatching up the child she turned and jumped for the pave- ment again. She was barely in time, for the car whirled past just as she fell heavily over the kerb,' but with her precious burden safe in her arms. It was the rescued mite’s companâ€" ion who helped her to rise, his face deathly white, and with trembling hands. Marion was unhurt, but the child’s forehead was cut and bleed- ing. Seeing that the inevitable crowd was gathering, Marion push- ed her way through, still holding the little one. This proved to be the case. The injury was a mere scratch, but Marion would not leave her little guest until she had been fed and was quietly sleeping. Then she re- joined the fatherâ€"for such he was â€"â€"â€"whose wants had been attended to by Martha. The poor fellow was profuse in his gratitude, and her sympathy soon drew his story out. “Come with me,” she said to the man, who was trying to stammer his gratitude.’ “I live close by, and the child must be seen to at once, though I do not think she is much hurtfl’ “It is the common tale of a weak man crushed- by misfortune,” he began. bitterly. “My name is Robert Western, and it is not yet two years since I had all that a man needsâ€"â€"a position by which I could live, an angel for a Wife, and my little girl. Then my wife was taken away, and I think all that was good in me died with her. Perhaps you cannot realize what it means to loseâ€"â€"-â€"’ ’ He paused awkwardly, and Mari- on said, in a low voice, “I"think I can; I have lost both. You have still your child.” “Forgive me,” the man murmur- ed, brokenly. “I should have known that such pity as you have shown me, an outcast, could only be begotten of grief. Yes, it is true I had my little girl, but, wretch that I was, I still rebelled. I sought the weak man’s consola- tion, and trod the road to ruin recklessly. In a few months I had been warned again and again, and then the inevitable end cameâ€"I was dismissed. I had been with the firm ten years, but I cannot blame them ; I had every latitude. Since then I have had chances, only to throw them away, and nowâ€"I am a, beg- gar.” Marion listened to the sordid con- fession with moist eyes, and, so tar from exciting her contempt, it strengthened her resolve to aid him. She measured his misery by her own and knew its despairing depth. “What is your work ‘2” she asked. “I was a clerk in the offices of Messrs. Corder and Wayne, the City merchants,” he replied. Had he been looking at her he must have noticed the sudden start and the deadly pallor this reply produced in Marion. With an ef- fort she controlled her emotion, and said, quietly :-â€" “The name seems familiar. Was there not a. prosecution by that firm some time ago 2” “Yes.” renlied “Western. “One; nf their clerks, named Dane -- mv The astonishing change and the deep conviction in her voice start- led Western, who looked up and flushed as he met her scrutinizing gaze. “I have always thought so my- self,” he muttered, awkwardly. Marion’s eyes never left his face. At the sight of his confusion a sud- den suspicion had been born in her mind.‘ This manâ€"easily temptedâ€"â€" had been on the downward path at the time the crime was committed. She remembered his name now, and that at the trial it had been shown that he was one of the two others who had aecess to her husband’s fal- sified books. What if in his reck- less despair he had taken the money and skilfully fixed the theft upon his fellow-clerk? His increasing in- quietude intensified her suspicion, and she resolved to strike boldly. ~ seniorâ€"and he got five years for em- bezzlement.” “He was innocent!” Marion cried, almost _h_arsh1§{. “You know that he is innocent,” she said, sternly. “Even as I, who am his wife, know it.” Robert Western sprang to his feet. “Iâ€"Iâ€" 'youâ€"you are his wife,” he cried,"“‘an_d you saved my little girl’s life!” He paused sud- denly, as though an idea had ar- rested his words, and, sinking into the chair again, hid his face in his hands. Girl (reading)â€"â€"“Cold feet are usually caused by indigestion, brought on by overâ€"eating.” There, Jimmy, now we know wot’s the matter of us ! Marion watched him with misery and triumph battling in her heart. She felt sure of his gum now, and if only she could persuade him to play the man, John Dane would re- gain both liberty and. fair fame. Threats, she recognized, were ,"use- less, since she had no proof. lHer one hope lay in appealing to his honor, his gratitude, and, perhaps â€"â€"well, he had been a gentleman once. She waited until he looked up, and then her eager appeal rang out. “Mr. Western!” she cried. “You have told me of your sufferings, and now I ask you to think of what my husband has endured, and must en- dure for years unless you set right thls terrible wrong. Deprived of all he loves, branded with shame, and forced to herd with felonsâ€"he, an innocent man. I do not know how you were tempted when you com. mitted the crime, but to let another suffer for it is infamousâ€"cowardly. You ask that I have saved your daughter’s life. I ask you for my husband’s liberty and honor in re- turn, and if you have one spark of manhood remaining you cannot -â€" dare notâ€"refuse.” She was standing before him now, her hands outstretched, and a. world of passion in her voice. Western, Mrs. Caseyâ€"-~“I don’t know what we’ll put in little Patsy’s stockin’, Mike. He writ a letther t’ Santy Claus axin’ Fr 3 rale auttymobile, nu liss.” ‘ “‘Ml'T-Caseyâ€"“Shure, we’ll drop a few drops iv gassyline in it 311’ I’ll bet he’ll be thankful he didn’t git th’ rist iv the machine.” A COLD CHRISTMAS. THE ONLY WAY OUT. ‘rbowed and stricken, was silent for {‘some moments, and then, in a low Woice. he asked:â€" “Western 1” he cried. “How came you here ’2” It was his wife who answered the question, briefly relating the events of the evening, and concluding with Western’s determination to at once right the wrong done to his fellow- clerk. Dane’s features 1300» on a. singular expression as he listened. “And my littla girl; what would become of her? She has no one but ‘fShe shall stay here,” Marion cried, eagerly. “I swear to you that she shall take the place of my own lost baby, andâ€"she shall never know the trtith.” Western looked up, and Marion knew that she had won. There was an expression of fixed resolve on his face which seemed to wipe out the marks of weakness and rhssipa- tinn. “I will do it.” he said. “I give myself up to the police clear your husband’s ngxqm.” “But I don’t understand,” Mari- on said, and her wondering eyes turned to the figure in the chair, whom her husband now noticed for the first time. “Western,” he said, “do you rea- lize What prison-life means to an educated man? Have you thought of the phr'sical discomfort, of the grinding ignominy of being herded like cattle in pens with the very dregs of humanity, of the awful mental starvation? Were you pre- pared to face all this ‘2” The'words had but left his lips when a ring came at the door. A cry of surprise from Martha. follow- ed. and then the door of the sittingâ€" room flung open and a. greyâ€" haired man entered. “Marion 1" ha instant she wasl arms. “And you are really free, John 2” Marion asked for the twentieth time; it was so diflicult to realize, even with his strong arms about her “Yes ; the real culprit has confess- ed at last.” “Yes." The speaker’s voice was firm, and his eyes met‘those of his questioner steadily. ,“Knowing yourself to be an inno- cént man 2” persisted Dane. “Innocent?” It was Marion who spoke. “Certainly,” said her husband. “He is no more guilty than I am. The thief was old Solmay, the cash- ier, who confessed to it; just before he died. Mr. Corder at once brought pressure to bear on the au- thorities and secured my immedi- ate release.” Marion’s eyes turned wondering- ly to Western, and he smiled sadly as he said 2-â€" “Yes, I acted a lie to you. I saw that you believed me guilty, and in a flash it came to me that here was my chance to ensure my little girl’s happiness and make her some re- paration. With you she would have every comfort, and, being, young, would soon cease to miss me, and â€"â€"Well, I yielded to temptation once more. It was to have been my Christmas gift to her~my last and best.’ ’ He rose to go, but John Dane pushed him back into his seat again. “We’ve not finished with you yet, Western,” he said: “And I’ve not told all my news, Marion. Mr Croder has offered me my old post in the firm, at an increased salary, andâ€"why, What’s this 2” For his- wife had taken a neatly- bound volume from the bookshelf and placed it; in his hands. On the title-page he read the name of the storyâ€"a name he had grown to hate the sight of in the past as the manuscript came back with unfailâ€" cried. and in an in her husband’s will and Outside, the busy life of the street went on, but it had a changâ€" eJl note for Marion now. Each boisterous greeting found an echo in her own heart, and everything seemed to be crying aloud, “A Merry Christmasl”-â€"â€"London Tit Bits. ' Like a man in a dream he learnâ€" ed how his brave wife had earned fame 'for him while he was sufferâ€" ing infamy, and, though, he said little, the love in his eyes made up her full reward, “He shall,” John said, heartily. “He can’t refuse me that. What do you say, Western? You’ve had a hard lesson, and I don’t think you’ll fail again.” For ease of preparation, and cerâ€" tainty of success, nothing excels taf- fy, and the variations are so num- erous as to be allâ€"sufficient in the making up of a gift box. From a plain vanilla taffy nearly all the other varieties may be made. ‘If working alone it is best not to boil too much at once, owing to the dif- ficulty of pulling it before it cools. Stir half teaspoon cream of tartar through one and a half pounds cofâ€" fee A sugar; add half pint water, and set over a brisk fire. Stir un- til dissolved, but do not stir after it begins to boil. When the bubbles rise large and thick, drop a little in cold water; if it breaks with a. crack when taken between the‘fin- gers it is done. Pour at once into large platters or pans that have been greased. Pour half teaspoon vanilla over the surface, and throw the edges of the candy toward the centre as fast as it cools, until all is cool enough to handle. Grease the hands with a very little butter, and pull until white. If one has a. large hook to throw it over for pul- ling when it begins to pull hard it will be much easier on the arms. When too hard to pull longer draw out to a uniferm thickness and lay on slightly greased pans to harden, when it is easily broken with a sharp rap of a knife. “And as you won’t) need to go into the City again, perhaps Mr. Carder will giveâ€"â€"â€"” Marion paused. y‘ Robert Wéstern stood up, a man once more~â€"the slough of his old weakness cast for ever. He looked round, and Marion, diâ€" vining his thought, said, softly, “She is in the next room.” He went out, and some time lat- er, through the half-open door, she saw him kneeling by the bedside, his lips upon the hand of the sleep- ing child. ing regularity from publisher after publisher. “My story I” he cried. “Publishv ed!” “Yes, your story,” replied Mari- on, adding, “I did not alter a single word, dear.”r Lemon.â€"Cook the same as vanill- la taffy; pour over it while cooling half teaspoon lemon extract, and a. like amount of strong saffron tea to color a light yellow. Strawberry.â€"F1a.v0r the plain taffy with half teaspoon strawberry extract, and color pink with a few drops of fruit color or cochineal. “No, I’ll not fail again,” he said. “No man can fail who has such friends.” vanilla. Chocolate.â€"-As soon as the plain taffy is poured into the pan to cool, turn over it one and a half squares chocolate‘ that has been melted over hot water. It will be well workâ€" ed in in the cooling. Flavor with THE CHILDREN AT THE GATE Behold the children at the gate; All patient for your loves they wait; The cold winds toss their tresses sweet, The snows are spread before their feet}. Have ye no kindly words or arts To win, and warm them in your hearts? “What shall you do at Christ- mas-time 2” asked the goose. “What the rest of th- world wt"? be do- ingâ€"gobble !” said the turgch But he didn’t. 0 wait; The wind its icy vengeance wreaks. The blind Vsnows pelt their pallid. There, where each face expectant; smiie.‘ The night is cold; shalt these, abide; Safe at thy heart’s warm fireside? cheeks. . Hastenwfor one day they shall rest Folded unto the Christ, His breast! is, Are lips that keep for thee thy kiss ,1 Are lips that in the afterwhile Shall light thy pathway with a, Behold the children at thy gate, And hasten! for they weep and; CHRISTMAS TAFFIES.