Della finished her crying and cleaned the marks of it from her face. She stood by the window and looked out with no interest. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a gift. She had put aside as much as she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week is not much. Everything had cost more than she had expected. It always happened like that. Only $ 1.87 to buy a gift for Jim. Her Jim. She had had many happy hours planning something nice for him. Something nearly good enough. Something almost worth the honour of belonging to Jim. There was a looking-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen the kind of looking-glass that is placed in $8 furnished rooms. It was very narrow. A person could see only a little of himself at a time. However, if he was very thin and moved very quickly, he might be able to get a good view of himself. Della, being quite thin, had mastered this art. Suddenly she turned from the window and stood before the glass. Her eyes were shining brightly, but her face had lost its colour. Quickly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its complete length. The James Dillingham Youngs were very proud of two things which they owned. One thing was Jim’s gold watch. It had once belonged to his father. And, long ago, it had belonged to his father’s father. The other thing was Della’s hair. If a queen had lived in the rooms near theirs, Della would have washed and dried her hair where the queen could see it. Della knew her hair was more beautiful than any queen’s jewels and gifts. If a king had lived in the same house, with all his riches, Jim would have looked at his watch every time they met. Jim knew that no king had anything so valuable. So now Della’s beautiful hair fell about her, shining like a falling stream of brown water. It reached below her knee. It almost made itself into a dress for her. And then she put it up on her head again, nervously and quickly. Once she stopped for a moment land stood still while a tear or two ran down her face. 4 She put on her old brown coat. She put on her old brown hat. With the bright light still in her eyes, she moved quickly out the door and down to the street. Where she stopped, the sign said: “Mrs. Sofronie. Hair Articles of all Kinds.” Up to the second floor Della ran, and stopped to get her breath. Mrs. Sofronie, large, too white, cold-eyed, looked at her. “Will you buy my hair?” asked Della. “I buy hair,” said Mrs. Sofronie. “Take your hat off and let me look at it.” Down fell the brown waterfall. “Twenty dollars,” said Mrs. Sofronie, lifting the hair to feel its weight. “Give it to me quick,” said Della. Oh, and the next two hours seemed to fly.