niceness to hide their feelings, and thanked
her as if she had given them the most expensive objects obtainable.

Father's humour, however, could not help twinkling out at the cake of
soap: "To Darling Dad, with dearest and best love, from Gwen".

"I hope it isn't a hint I need washing," he said with mock
seriousness.

"I thought you liked oatmeal soap!" protested Gwen, nearly crying.

"So I do, my dear; and I haven't had any for a long time. Like the man
in Pears's advertisement, I shall now use no other."

"Here's the postman!" shouted Giles, rushing excitedly to the door,
where that much-burdened official, with an extra man to help him, was
sorting out what belonged to the Parsonage.

"Six letters for you, Gwen, and two parcels," said Beatrice, assuming
command of the correspondence, and distributing it among the eager
family.

Gwen snatched her share nervously. Would any of the letters contain
the longed-for postal orders? No, they all had halfpenny stamps, and
were clearly only Christmas cards.

Then she fell upon the parcels. The first contained a handsome knitted
coat, and cap to match, "with love from Grannie", and the second, a
beautiful little set of Wordsworth's poems in a cloth case, "with Aunt
Violet's best wishes".

Gwen sat down on the sofa, feeling as if she had received a rude
shock. That both Grannie and Aunt Violet should have sent presents
instead of money was worse than she had calculated upon. She tried to
pull herself together, and not show her disappointment too plainly,
but the thought of what she owed was paramount. It only made it worse
that the gifts were really acceptable, and that the rest of the family
persisted in considering her extremely lucky.

"It was kind of Grannie to send that lovely coat: dark green will just
suit you. Try it on, and the cap too," said Winnie.

"It looks swank!" declared the boys.

"They'll go with your dark green skirt," affirmed Beatrice.

"The Wordsworths are scrumptious!" said Lesbia. "You've done awfully
well this Christmas!"

"Yes, but how am I going to pay my debts?" thought Gwen, as she ran
upstairs to get ready for church.

CHAPTER X

A Prodigal

As the next term seemed likely to bring its own crop of troubles,
Gwen, with a kind of grim philosophy, determined to enjoy herself
while she could, and make the most of the holidays. She helped
vigorously at the schools, where tea parties for children and
grownups, concerts and oth