my last job ended the day before christmas, my thirty-dollar rent was soon due, and 1 had fifteen dollars to my name--which peggy and i would need for food.

　　she was home from convent boarding school and was excitedly looking forward to her gifs next day, which i had already purchased. i had bough her a small tree, and we were going to decorate it that night.

　　the air was full of the sound of christmas merriment as i walked from the streetcar to my small apartment. bells rang and children shouted in the bitter dusk of the evening, and windows were lighted and everyone was running and laughing. but there should be no christmas for me, i knew, no gifts, no remembrance whatsoever.

　　as l struggled through the snowdrifts, l had just about reached the lowest point in my life. unless a miracle happened, i would be homeless in january, foodless, jobless. i had prayed steadily for weeks, and there had been no answer but this coldness and darkness, this harsh air, this abandonment.

　　god and men had completely forgotten me. i felt so helpless and so lonely. what was to become of us?

　　i looked in my mail box. there were only bills in it, a sheaf of them, and two white envelopes which i was sure contained more bills. i went up three dusty flights of stairs and i cried, shivering in my thin coat.

　　but i made myself smile so i could greet my little daughter with a pretense of happiness. she opened the door for me and threw herself in my arms, screaming joyously and demanding that we decorate the tree immediately.

　　peggy had proudly set our kitchen table for our evening meal and put pans out and three cans of food which would be our dinner. for some reason, when i looked at those pans and cans, i felt brokenhearted. we would have on