Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny，close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully likea truant schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in themirror 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 ConeyIsland chorus girl. But what could I do—oh！ what could Ido with a dollar and eighty-seven cents？”
At 7 o’clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan wason the back of the stove hot and ready to cook the chops.
Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in herhand and sat on the corner of the table near the doorthat he always entered. Then she heard his step on thestair away down on the first flight， and she turned whitefor just a moment. She had a habit of saying a little silentprayer about the simplest everyday things， and now shewhispered： “Please God， make him think I am still pretty.”
The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. Helooked thin and very serious. Poor fellow， he was onlytwenty-two—and to be burdened with a family！ He neededa new overcoat and he was without gloves.
Jim stopped inside the door， as immovable as a setterat the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della， andthere was an expression in them that she could not read，and it terrified her. It was not anger， nor surprise， nordisapproval， nor horror， nor any of the sentiments thatshe had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedlywith 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. Ihad my hair cut off and sold because I couldn’t have livedthrough Christmas without giving you a present. It’ll growout again—you won’t mind， will you？ I just had to do it.
My hair grows awfully fast. Say ‘Merry Christmas！’ Jim，and let’s be happy. You don’t know what a nice—what abeautiful， nice gift I’ve got for you.”
“You’ve cut off your hair？” asked Jim， laboriously， as ifhe had not arrived at that patent fact yet even after thehardest mental labor.
“Cut it off and sold it，” said Della. “Don’t you like mejust as 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 almostof idiocy.
“You needn’t look for it，” said Della. “It’s sold， I tellyou—sold and gone， too. It’s Christmas Eve， boy. Begood to me， for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of myhead were numbered，” she went on with sudden serioussweetness， “but nobody could ever count my love for you.
Shall I put the chops on， Jim？”
Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. Heenfolded his Della. For ten seconds let us regard withdiscreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the otherdirection. Eight dollars a week or a million a year—whatis the difference？ A mathematician or a wit would giveyou the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts，but that was not among them. This dark assertion will beilluminated later on.
Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threwit upon the table.
“Don’t make any mistake， Dell，” he said， “about me. Idon’t think there’s anything in the way of a haircut or ashave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl anyless. But if you’ll unwrap that package you may see whyyou had me going 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， necessitatingthe immediate employment of all the comforting powersof the lord of the flat.
For there lay The Combs—the set of combs， side andback， that Della had worshipped long in a Broadwaywindow. Beautiful combs， pure tortoise shell， with jewelledrims—just the shade to wear in the beautiful vanishedhair. They were expensive combs， she knew， and her hearthad simply craved and yearned over them without theleast hope of possession. And now， they were hers， but thetresses that should have adorned the coveted adornmentswere gone.
But she hugged them to her bosom， and at length shewas able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say： “Myhair grows so fast， Jim！”
And then Della leaped up like a little singed cat andcried， “Oh， oh！”
Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held itout to him eagerly upon her open palm. The dull preciousmetal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright andardent spirit.
“Isn’t it a dandy， Jim？ I hunted all over town to find it.
You’ll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now.
Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it.”
Instead of obeying， Jim tumbled down on the couch andput his hands under the back of his head and smiled.
“Dell，” said he， “let’s put our Christmas presents awayand keep ’em a while. They’re too nice to use just atpresent. I sold the watch to get the money to buy yourcombs. And now suppose you put the chops on.”
The magi， as you know， were wise men—wonderfullywise men—who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger.
They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Beingwise， their gifts were no doubt wise ones， possibly bearingthe privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And hereI have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle oftwo foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificedfor each other the greatest treasures of their house. Butin a last word to the wise of these days let it be said thatof all who give gifts these two were the wisest. Of all whogive and receive gifts， such as they are wisest. Everywherethey are wisest. They are the magi.