288 THE BED MOUNTAIN OF ALASKA. 
tlieir stands, so that the glossy leaves and scarlet berries 
glistened in the flaring light of the lamps. Wreaths of 
every size and description — some made of crispy gray 
moss, dotted with bright amaranths, some of holly — 
were threaded upon sticks like beads, and were being 
constantly pulled off and sold to the muffled customers, 
who poured through the narrow passageway in a continu- 
ous stream. 
" All brightness," thought Mr. Broadstreet, " and no 
shadow this time." 
None ? What was that black, ugly-looking stain on 
the fallen snow, extending from his own feet to one of 
the rude wooden stands where traffic was busiest ? Mr. 
Broadstreet started, and scrutinized it sharply. He soon 
discovered the outline of Christmas Present. Beyond a 
doubt, it was the Shadow again. 
It must be confessed that for a moment Mr. Broad- 
street felt slightly annoyed. Why should that thing be 
constantly starting up and darkening his cheerful mood ? 
It was bad enough that the Shadow should exist, without 
intruding its melancholy length upon people who were 
enjoying Christmas Eve. He might have indulged in 
still further discontent, when he noticed the head of the 
Shadow-figure droop as in sadness. He remembered the 
kind ghost's grief, and upbraided himself for his hardness 
of heart. 
" Forgive me," he said, half aloud. " I was wrong. 
