"i wish i could dress up like those rag-a-muffins!" exclaimed ruth, looking out of the nursery window on thanksgiving day, "i think it would be such fun!"

"do you, dear?" said mother, standing behind her little daughter who was watching a number of children dressed grotesquely in grown-ups' clothes parade up and down the avenue.

"yes, indeed," replied ruth, "just see the fun they are having."

"but think how poor they are and how few pleasures they really have; they are not looking forward to a lovely thanksgiving dinner," said mother, noticing the discontented look on ruth's face.

"don't they get any dinner?" she asked, turning to mother in surprise.

"yes, but only a very poor one; no turkey, no nuts and raisins."

"mother," cried ruth, "could i give my dinner to one of these poor little children?"

"how do you mean?" mother asked, delighted at the generosity of her little daughter.

"well," answered ruth, suddenly realizing what she was about to give up. "i mean, mother dear, could i give some of my dinner to that poor little boy over there by the lamp post?"

"yes, you may," mother answered, and, touching the bell, she told wiggins to bring in the little boy. "give him a piece of mince pie and some candy for dessert, wiggins," she added, "and don't pass the mince pie nor candy to miss ruth at dinner."

then mother came over to where ruth was standing and, placing her arms around her little daughter, said, "you know, dear, you are giving up some of your dinner to make a little boy happy."

"yes, mother," answered ruth with a smile, "some of my very own dinner."