rcoat weighted with the love-box of
really good candy for Clytie--it was evident as soon as he opened the
hall door that something unusual was going on upstairs. Wild shrieks of
"It's father! It's father!" rent the air.

"It's father!"

"Fardie! Fardie, don't come up!"

"Father, don't come up!"

"Father, it's your present!"

There was hasty scurrying of feet, racing to and fro, and further
shrieks. Langshaw waited, smiling.

It was evidently a "boughten" gift, then; the last had been a water
pitcher, much needed in the household. He braced himself fondly for
immense enthusiasm over this.

An expression of intense excitement was visible on each face when
finally he was allowed to enter the upper room. Mary and Baby rushed at
him to clasp his leg, while his wife leaned over to kiss him as he
whispered:

"I brought out a lot of truck; it's all in the closet in the hall."

George, standing with his hands in his pockets, proclaimed loudly, with
sparkling eyes:

"You nearly saw your present! It's from mother and us. Come here, Baby,
and pull brother's leg. Say, father, do you like cut glass?"

"O-oh!" came in ecstatic chorus from the other two, as at a delightful
joke.

"It's a secret!" announced Baby, her yellow hair falling over one round,
blue eye.

"I believe it's a pony," said the father. "I'm sure I heard a pony up
here!"

Shouts of renewed joy greeted the jest.

All the next day, Christmas Eve itself, whenever two or three of the
family were gathered together there were secret whisperings, more
scurryings, and frenzied warnings for the father not to come into the
room. In spite of himself, Langshaw began to get a little curious as to
the tobacco jar or the fire shovel, or whatever should be his portion.
He not only felt resigned to not having the trout-rod, but a sort of
wonder also rose in him that he had been bewitched--even
momentarily--into thinking he could have it. What did it matter anyway?

"It's worth it, old girl, isn't it?" he said cryptically as he and
Clytie met once unexpectedly in the hall, and he put his arm round her.

"Yes!" answered his wife, her dark eyes lustrous. Sometimes she didn't
look much older than little Mary. "One thing, though, I must say: I do
hope, dear, that--the children have been thinking so much of our present
to you and saving up so for it--I do hope, Joe, that if you are pleased
you'll show it. So far as I'm concerned, it doesn't matter; but
sometimes--when