After they had all sung the carols around the old tinkly piano, they wished one another a Merry Christmas, found their candles on the big table in the hall--for there were no electric lights in Polly's house--and went upstairs.

"Come along old man," Polly said to Sandy. "Do you want some help?" she asked, as the old dog prepared to follow her. He always slept on the rug beside her bed.

"How feeble he is," Bob said. "He doesn't act a bit well, Poll."

"It's old age, I'm afraid," Polly replied, sadly. "He's over fourteen, you know."

"I'm going to carry him up," Bob said. "I believe it hurts him to take these steps." He picked up Sandy ever so gently and carried him to Polly's room. "Good night again," he said at the door, "and Merry Christmas."

But all the wishes in the world cannot make happiness. That Christmas Day was far from merry for either Polly or Bob.

About two o'clock in the morning Polly awoke with a start. Some one was groaning. As she sat up in bed and tried to rub the sleep from her eyes, she felt something touch her arm. It was Sandy's paw.

After groping about in the dark she found the matches and lighted her candle, and jumped out on the floor.

"What is it, boy?" she asked, resting his head in her lap.

Sandy rolled his eyes, as dogs do when they are in pain and the agonized appeal in them made a lump rise in Polly's throat.

"Dear old fellow, what is it?" she said, gently. "What can I do for you!" She was seized with sudden fright. It seemed as if she alone was awake in all that black, still night. She called Lois two or three times but got no reply. She went to the door and listened. Her friend's regular breathing came to her faintly from the other room.

"What can I do?" she whispered. "Oh, Sandy boy, don't," she pleaded as the dog groaned again.

A minute later, she was hurrying into her clothes. When she was dressed she tip-toed down the hall and knocked at the farthest door. "Bob," she called softly.

"Yes," came the instant reply. "What is it?" Fortunately the wind had rattled his shade, so that the noise had awakened him a few minutes before.

"Get up," Polly called. "Sandy's awfully sick and I'm frightened."

Bob hurried into his things with full speed and joined her. Together they carried the dog into the morning room at the head of the stairs, and put him on the lounge. Bob lit the lamp.

"He can't breathe," Polly said desperately. "Oh, Bob, what can we do?"

Bob went for water and moistened the dog's tongue while Polly held his head in her arms. His breathing grew more labored.

"Could Tim do anything?" Bob suggested, forlornly. He knew that he couldn't, but it was terrible to just watch the dog suffer.

Polly shook her head. She didn't dare trust herself to speak. After a little while the breathing grew quieter. Sandy turned his head and licked Polly's hand. Then quite suddenly it stopped--his body trembled and he lay still in her arms.

Bob put his hand on her shoulder.

"Better leave him, Poll," he said huskily.

Polly looked up at him. It was a second before she understood.

"Bob, he's not-- Oh, Sandy! You've left me," she sobbed, and buried her head in his silky coat.

All Christmas day Polly tried to keep up her spirits and not spoil the others' pleasure, but her heart had a dull, lonely ache that wouldn't go away. Any one who has loved and lost a faithful dog understands. And Polly had loved Sandy from his first puppy days.

All the family did their best to cheer her up, but the day was a woeful failure. Uncle Roddy and Bob were the only ones who understood her grief, and their own was so great that they could find no words of comfort.

After dinner she disappeared. She knew that all the afternoon callers would be dropping in to exchange greetings, and she could not bear the thought of talking to them.

Bob found her about four o'clock, curled up on her favorite window seat, at the head of the stairs. He had been despatched by his mother to tell her that some of her friends were in the drawing-room.

"If she doesn't want to come don't urge her," she had warned him. "I'll make some excuse."

"Bobby, I just can't," Polly said when he had told her. "My eyes are all swollen and I've such a headache."

"What you need is air," Bob said decidedly. "Go get your coat and hat, and we'll fly off with Banker for a little ride. Come on, Poll," he coaxed, "it will do you loads of good."

Polly gave in reluctantly.

"Where are we going?" she asked when they were in the sleigh.

"Never mind, I've a scheme," Bob told her. "Shut your eyes." He headed the pony toward the bay. The cold air acted as a tonic on Polly. By the time they stopped before an old tumble down fisherman's hut, she was quite herself again.

"Why, it's Uncle Cy's place!" she exclaimed. "Bobby, how did you ever think of him?"

They pushed open the door, without knocking, and entered the one little room that served for all purposes.

Uncle Cy was one of Polly's earliest and best of friends; he was an old fisherman. They had spent many long, happy days together, when she was a little girl. He welcomed her heartily.

"Why, Miss Polly. I was beginning to think I'd have to go one Christmas without a word from you," he said. "How are you? You're getting mighty handsome," he teased "and I'm sorry to see it. I never did hold with handsome women. 'Handsome is as handsome does,' I always say," he added with a wink. "And you, Mr. Bob, how do you do again? That basket you brought me this morning was mighty good," he said with a chuckle.

"We're just here for a second," Polly explained. "Banker's freezing outside. Have you had a Merry Christmas?" she asked brightly. No one could be unhappy long under the spell of Uncle Cy's genial smile.

"Fair to middling," the old man answered, contentedly. "Have a seat," he offered.

They stayed chatting for a few minutes more, and then returned to the sleigh.

"The old darling," Polly laughed, "he hasn't changed a bit."

When they reached home, they stole in the back way. One of Lois' merry laughs greeted them as they entered.

"Jimmy, you wretch," they heard her cry.

"What's the matter, Lo?" Bob inquired from the door of the drawing-room.

Lois looked up in confusion.

"Jim kissed me under the mistletoe," she said, "after I'd expressly told him not to."

Polly joined in the laugh that followed.

"Bobby," she said as they were taking off their coats in the hall, "I'm ashamed of being such a baby to-day. I acted as if I were eight years old."

Bob pulled a big wadded handkerchief out of one of his pockets. "Don't apologize, Poll," he said. "Look at this. I wasn't so very grown up myself." Then he added, gently, "Good old Sandy."