IT was nearly midnight when the special train pulled into Sycamore Ridge, and Neal Ward hurried home. He went to his room, and found there a letter and a package, both addressed in Jeanette's handwriting.The letter was only a note that read: —

" MY DEAREST BOY: I could not wait to send it for your Christmas present.So I am sending it the very day it is finished. I hope it will bring me close to you — into your very heart and keep me there. I have kissed it—for I knew that you would.

" Your loving JEANETTE."

He tore open the package and found a miniature of Jeanette done on ivory — that seemed to bring her into the room, and illumine it with her presence.The thing bloomed with life, and his heart bounded with joy as his eyes drank the beauty of it. His father called from below stairs, and the youth went down holding the note and the miniature in his hands. Before the father could speak, the son held out the picture, and Philemon Ward looked for a moment into the glowing faces — that of the picture and that of the living soul before him, and hesitated before speaking.

" I got your wire — " he began.

" But isn't it beautiful, father — wonderful ! " broke in the son.

The father assented kindly and then continued : " So I thought I'd sit up for you.I had to talk with you." The son's face looked an interrogation, and the father answered, " Read that, Neal—' handing his son a letter in a rich linen envelope bearing in the corner the indication that it was written at the Army and Navy Club in Washington.The lovely face in the miniature lay on the table between them and smiled up impartially at father and son as the young man drew out the letter and read : —

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