MARJORIE'S NEW-YEAR'S EVE.

BY MRS. JOHN LILLIE.

I.

Marjorie was sitting curled up in a big easy-chair before the fire. The room was her own school-room, and the fire-light danced and played on all sorts of beautiful, luxurious objects—everything for making the young mistress of the big house comfortable. But Marjorie had come to believe herself the most wretched of all young people, and while the fire-light seemed to redden and glow with happy beams on everything else, it darkened the look on Marjorie's little face. Now and then she tossed her little curls; sometimes she puckered her lips, and frowned and nodded; evidently she was thinking very hard and very unpleasantly. If her thoughts had been expressed, they would have shown that she thought Christmas week had been "just perfectly horrid—not one nice thing about it. Uncle John away—gone to see those miserable Williamsons, who had taken this time of all others to be ill. And Miss Marbery talk about her having so many blessings! A lot of horrid old presents, no tree, and Miss Marbery"—the governess—"looking so tired all the time! And after all she had said to Uncle John, he hadn't got her a new French doll, and her old one looked like a perfect fright."

Poor silly little Marjorie! After she had gone on thinking half an hour or so, she gradually concluded she was a victim of the cruelest circumstances, and that in spite of all the love and beauty and tender thought in the life around her, she just had nothing at all done for her comfort, happiness, or well-being.

Marjorie glanced about the room as the twilight gathered. Snow was falling outside the luxuriously curtained windows, so that the cheer within ought to have been peculiarly noticeable; but to Marjorie nothing looked very pleasant anywhere just then. Her toys were scattered about, the despised doll was nowhere to be seen, the rocking-horse of last year was in the centre of the room. The big map Uncle John had had made to interest her in geography loomed up on one side of the wall in a way Marjorie didn't think at all agreeable. This map could be taken all to pieces; even the rivers were made so that they could be taken out, and made to bend little joints here and there in and out of the countries. Marjorie had thought it the greatest fun imaginable to play with this map when it first came home, but she had tired of this as soon as of everything else. Somehow, as she sat in the fire-light, it fascinated her to try and read the various names of the countries. She was looking very steadily toward what she certainly thought was China, when suddenly the letters seemed to change curiously. "Is that China?" Marjorie said, half aloud. China on Marjorie's map was a yellow country, and so, certainly, was the piece she was looking at; but the name gradually seemed to unfold itself before her wondering eyes. "Why," said Marjorie, really speaking out loud this time—"why, it's Christmas-land! How funny I should always have thought it was China!"

"Didn't you know that?" said a queer voice near by. It was more a sort of squeak than a voice; but Marjorie turned her head, and saw her rocking-horse rocking violently.

"Did you speak?" she asked, a little startled.

"I rocked a few words," answered the horse, without altering the very decided expression of his eyes. "I asked you if you had never known that before."

"Known what?" said Marjorie.

"Look and see," rocked the horse, and so Marjorie turned her eyes back to the map. Another change had occurred—indeed, not one, but many. The windows seemed to have melted away into the snow-storm outside, and the map, which usually hung between them, had slowly changed, every country and every river fading away, until Christmas-land only seemed to remain. But even that was changing too, for now it no longer looked like a picture on the map, but a real country. Marjorie started forward toward it. Fir-trees were loaded with icicles; a snowy road seemed to stretch away ahead of her out of the place where the windows and the map had been; and the horse? He too had undergone a change, even while Marjorie's eyes were looking at the windows. Instead of his usual old harness, he had a comfortable saddle and substantial bridle. Then his hair had grown thicker, and he had a splendid blanket, and a collar of bells.

"Dear me!" ejaculated Marjorie.

"I don't see that it's particularly 'dear me,'" said the horse. "I came from Christmas-land last year, and now I'm going back—that's all. New-Year's Eve is our time. Come, hurry up; if you want to go, you must be quick about it."

"Oh, I'm all ready!" Marjorie exclaimed; and with what seemed no trouble at all she sprang into the saddle, and was delighted to find the horse turning carefully about toward the windows.

Well, it was a queer experience. They seemed only to float out—out into the frosty, snowy air. The motion was delightful; but what were they riding on?

"Excuse me," said Marjorie to the horse; "what are we riding on?"

"Why, don't you see?" he answered—"on the snow-flakes. They always hold me up going back to Christmas-land."

"Isn't it delightful!" sighed Marjorie. And so it seemed. On they floated, past church towers, snowy streets, and open country. The bells grew fainter and fainter; Marjorie felt more and more comfortable. It seemed to her as if they were entering a beautiful snowy forest—the same she had seen slowly growing on the map, now so far away, at home.

Then she seemed to doze a little, but only to be roused up by a swift rushing of three or four rocking-horses apparently floating on in the same delicious fashion. At the same time Marjorie observed they were in one of the long aisles of the forest, at the end of which lights from a thousand windows were twinkling. She tried to discover who were the strange-looking people on the rocking-horses flying past her, but although she saw familiar signs about them, she could not quite remember where she had seen them before. Finally, with a whirring noise, she saw one of the dissections of her map right beside her; but how queerly it was changed! It was certainly "Augusta, on the Kennebec"; she was sure of that; but instead of just being a little town mark, she was a funny little figure with round eyes, and a good-humored expression, only it was certainly on the Kennebec. Almost at the same time a second figure on another horse flew by. This figure seemed to be made up of round balls, and it nodded to Marjorie's horse laughingly, saying, "How much am I?"

"I know," cried Marjorie; "you're Nine-times-naught."

"It's well you knew," said the horse, "for where we are going you may be asked that a great many times."

"Where are we going?" said Marjorie, a little timidly; "and isn't this Christmas-land?"

"WE ARE GOING RIGHT TO SANTA CLAUS'S CASTLE."

"Of course it is," answered the horse, "and we are going right to Santa Claus's castle."

By this time Marjorie saw that there appeared on all sides of the wood, a great many strange characters. It was five or six moments before she could place them, and then she remembered having seen them in various houses or toy-shops, and one or two looked as if they had come from her own play-room. They were all sorts of toys, mostly broken down and decrepit; but they moved about, talking and laughing with each other, and every one seemed to recognize Marjorie's horse as he skimmed past.

"Well," thought Marjorie, "if I hadn't seen it, I never should have believed it."

But her wonderment was not to end there, for the next minute the horse had ridden up to a heavy gate in a high wall, where with his mouth he clanged a great bell. Marjorie's heart stood still. Back flew the gate. Marjorie saw that it had been unbolted by a little dwarf, to whom the horse nodded in a friendly way.

"Are we late?" said the horse, drawing a long breath.

"Not very," said the dwarf. "But hurry in."

And in they went. For a moment Marjorie almost screamed with delight. Never had she seen anything so beautiful. She was in a garden which seemed to be hung with every possible flower that ever grew, lighted by every soft light; and yet it was winter-time. Around the garden wall the fir-trees from the forest reared their heads laden with snow, and above all shone the radiance of moon and stars.

Marjorie seemed to be lifted by unconscious hands from her saddle, and to find herself on a smooth, springing turf, where little violets lay nestling under the starlight.

"Why, how can they grow?" she exclaimed, in shy delight.

"Shall I tell her?" said the horse.

"You may if you like," answered the dwarf. "Only I am afraid she never would understand it."

The horse waited a moment, and giving one or two rocks, said:

"Well, these flowers grow for every kindly Christmas deed done by any child out of Christmas-land, no matter how poor or simple the child is. Do you see that rose-bush?"

Marjorie looked and saw a lovely garland of red roses filling the air with fragrance.

"Well," pursued the horse, "that grew when a little child in a hospital shared its toys on Christmas-eve with one who had nothing."

"And the winter frost does not hurt them?"

"How can it, when a good deed has given them life? Their kind of perfume can't be touched by snow or frost."

Marjorie paused a minute; then she half-whispered, "No flower ever grew here for me?"

The horse rocked rather angrily. "No, it didn't," he answered. "Now good-night. Follow the dwarf. If I am allowed to take you back, I'll be here at midnight."

In a moment he had rocked himself out of sight. Marjorie looked about for the dwarf, and followed him down the garden to a second gateway. From this they reached the castle steps. Lights blazed everywhere. Marjorie followed the dwarf up the steps, and into a huge hallway glittering with icicles and snowy branches of fir. She was given no time for wonderment. The dwarf pulled a huge key from his pocket, and unlocking a safe, drew out a number of smaller keys with labels attached. He chose one, and handed it to Marjorie, saying, "Go down the corridor to the left until you come to the room labelled as this key is. Go in there, and wait until you are sent for."

Marjorie took the key in rather trembling fingers, and turned in the direction he had commanded. It was a wide icicle-hung corridor, with doors on either side. They were all labelled. Marjorie went down comparing each name she read with that on her key. The name written there was "Unworthy."

[to be continued.]