Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny， closelyingcurls that made her look wonderfully like a truantschoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long，carefully， and critically.
“If Jim doesn’t kill me，” she said to herself， “before hetakes a second look at me， He’ll say I look like a Coney Islandchorus girl. But what could I do—oh！ what could I do with adollar and eighty-seven cents？”
At 7 o’clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was onthe back of the stove hot and ready to cook the chops.
Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her handand sat on the corner of the table near the door that he alwaysentered. Then she heard his step on the stair away down onthe first flight， and she turned white for just a moment. Shehad a habit of saying a little silent prayer about the simplesteveryday things， and now she whispered： “Please God， makehim think I am still pretty.”
The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He lookedthin and very serious. Poor fellow， he was only twenty-two—and to be burdened with a family！ He needed a new overcoatand he was without gloves.
Jim stopped inside the door， as immovable as a setter at thescent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della， and there was anexpression in them that she could not read， and it terrified her.
It was not anger， nor surprise， nor disapproval， nor horror， norany of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simplystared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face.
Della wriggled off the table and went for him.
“Jim， darling，” she cried， “don’t look at me that way. I hadmy hair cut off and sold because I couldn’t have lived throughChristmas without giving you a present. It’ll grow out again—you won’t mind， will you？ I just had to do it. My hair growsawfully fast. Say ‘Merry Christmas！’ Jim， and let’s be happy.
You don’t know what a nice—what a beautiful， nice gift I’ve gotfor you.”
“You’ve cut off your hair？” asked Jim， laboriously， as if hehad not arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardestmental labor.
“Cut it off and sold it，” said Della. “Don’t you like me justas well， anyhow？ I’m me without my hair， ain’t I？”
Jim looked about the room curiously.
“You say your hair is gone？” he said， with an air almost ofidiocy.
“You needn’t look for it，” said Della. “It’s sold， I tell you—sold and gone， too. It’s Christmas Eve， boy. Be good to me， forit went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered，”
she went on with sudden serious sweetness， “but nobody couldever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on， Jim？”
Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. He enfoldedhis Della. For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutinysome inconsequential object in the other direction. Eightdollars a week or a million a year—what is the difference？ Amathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. Themagi brought valuable gifts， but that was not among them.
This dark assertion will be illuminated later on.
Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw itupon the table.
“Don’t make any mistake， Dell，” he said， “about me. I don’tthink there’s anything in the way of a haircut or a shave ora shampoo that could make me like my girl any less. But ifYou’ll unwrap that package you may see why you had megoing a while at first.”
White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper.
And then an ecstatic scream of joy； and then， alas！ a quickfeminine change to hysterical tears and wails， necessitating theimmediate employment of all the comforting powers of thelord of the flat.
For there lay The Combs—the set of combs， side and back，that Della had worshipped long in a Broadway window.
Beautiful combs， pure tortoise shell， with jewelled rims—justthe shade to wear in the beautiful vanished hair. They wereexpensive combs， she knew， and her heart had simply cravedand yearned over them without the least hope of possession.
And now， they were hers， but the tresses that should haveadorned the coveted adornments were gone.
But she hugged them to her bosom， and at length she wasable to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say： “My hairgrows so fast， Jim！”
And then Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried，“Oh， oh！”
Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it outto him eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metalseemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit.
“Isn’t it a dandy， Jim？ I hunted all over town to find it. You’llhave to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give meyour watch. I want to see how it looks on it.”
Instead of obeying， Jim tumbled down on the couch and puthis hands under the back of his head and smiled.
“Dell，” said he， “let’s put our Christmas presents away andkeep ‘em a while. They’re too nice to use just at present. Isold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And nowsuppose you put the chops on.”
The magi， as you know， were wise men—wonderfully wisemen—who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. Theyinvented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise， theirgifts were no doubt wise ones， possibly bearing the privilegeof exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamelyrelated to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish childrenin a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other thegreatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wiseof these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these twowere the wisest. Of all who give and receive gifts， such as theyare wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.