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I ‘ll go down and see them.” And out he rushed, leaving Lisbeth to face his lighted window alone.

The police having found the janitor, the door was quickly opened: the lights soon flared in the halls; and in a minute Lisbeth was surrounded by a little crowd composed of two jolly policemen, the janitor, and a half-dozen people who had watched the opening of the door.

“You ‘d better take her straight to the station, Murphy,” said one policeman to the other, “and they can send her home from there.”

“You won‘t do anything of the kind,” said a commanding voice; and the judge came in, panting from his climb up the steps, his shoulders powdered with snow, but with all the dignity that belongs to a judge, so that the policemen at sight of him touched their caps and the stragglers looked at him respectfully.

“Order a carriage, Murphy,” he said; and in less time than it takes to tell it, Lisbeth found herself on the soft cushions, with the judge beside her.

“I ‘ll take her, Judge, if you ‘re too busy,” said Murphy, with bis hand on the carriage door.

But the judge had forgotten his important case. The clinging fingers, the look in the trustful blue eyes, made his old heart leap.

“Thank you, Murphy,” he said; “I ‘ll look after her. And oh, ah—a merry Christmas, Murphy!” and he left the officer bewildered by the unusual kindliness of his tone.

As they rolled along, he pulled out his watch.

“What time did you say your sister would get home?” he said.

“Not much before twelve o'clock.”

“It ‘s only eight now,” said the judge, “so I shall get you something to eat.”

The rest of the evening was a dream to the little girl. The wonderful dining-room at the great hotel, where there were flowers and cut glass and silver on the lovely white tables, where palms lined the walls and turned the room into a tropical bower, where lights glowed under pink shades, where there was an orchestra, and where she had the most delicious things to eat—oysters and chops and a fairy-like pudding which the judge called “souflé” and which tasted better than ice-cream.

And in that wonderful dream every one turned around and smiled at the shabby little fair-haired girl, and at the tall, stately old gentleman with her; and when they went out, a beautiful lady, all in velvet and furs, stooped down and smiled into the child’s happy face. “A merry Christmas, dear!” she said cheerily, and then she looked at the judge. “What a lovely thing you arc doing!” she murmured, and the judge bowed.

“Thank you, madam,” he said stiffly, but his old eyes shone.

Then into the carriage again, to stop at a big store to buy presents for the judge’s friends. For all of a sudden the judge discovered that Miss Jenkins was overworked and faithful, and aught to have gloves and a big box of candy and a new book; but her greatest treasure was a card on which was written in a neat hand, “To Miss Jenkins. A merry Christmas, and many of them.”

Then for George, the waiter, he bought a pocket-book, and tucked a bill into it; he ordered many things for sore old acquaintances and then he chose a lovely red coat and hat and warm black furs for Lisbeth, and a blue coat and hat for the sister, which were to be changed if they did n’t fit; and while the clerk helped the little girl put on her new things, he went up to the toy department and gave an order that made the saleswomen think him a second Santa Claus.

When they were once more in the carriage, he ordered the driver to go to Roby’s.

A crowd of girls streamed out from the doors of the big store as they drove up, but Lisbeth made straight for a slender figure in a thin old coat, As the dainty red-robed figure threaded its way between the staring girls, one of them cried:

“Marcella, Marcella Blair, it ’s Lisbeth!”

Within the carriage the judge sat up straight and looked out at the sound of that name. She had called her “Marcella Blair,” and he was Marcellus Blair!

Before Marcella could think or understand, they were in the carriage together, the sisters and an excited old gentleman, who kept asking questions: “Who was your father?” “How came you to be named Marcella?”

“After my grandfather,” said the dazed Marcella; ‘he was Marcellus Blair.”