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 I knew it would; for Mother only does it when Christmas comes in sight, and then she nearly sews her fingers off for a couple of months and scarcely goes out for a breath of air. "I believe I'll get it now," I said. "Come on down to the store with me and help pick it out."

Bess agreed, and we started. At first we chatted for a while, and then Bess got to thinking and was pretty quiet for several blocks. By and by she said:—"Chet, when we do something nice for a person, we always like that person better, don't we?"

"Yep," I said, "I've noticed it."

"Well," said Bess, slowly, "there's one person that you and I don't like as well as we ought to."

"Who?" said I.

"That other girl."

I didn't say a word.

"It's up to us, Chet," said Bess. "We've got to get ready to like her, anyway. If she comes while we feel this way, she won't have a fair show,—and we won't, either. We'll be looking for trouble all the time, even if we try not to. I've been working on it, but I don't feel like hugging