"They are very small," sighed Phronsie, curling up on the floor by the
side of the big box, almost overflowing with billows of the soft white
paper on top, and holding up two pudgy little bundles.
"So you've said for the last hour, Phronsie," exclaimed Polly, in
despair, and sitting quite straight, her hands in her lap. "Jasper,
what _shall_ we do?" He was over by the window laying out the long
nails that were to fasten the cover on; for no one must touch this
precious box, but the loving hands that got it ready.
"Oh, we can't," began Jasper. Then he turned and saw Phronsie's face.
"Perhaps one might be crowded in," he added, with a look at Polly.
"Which one would you rather have Polly make a try at, Phronsie?"
"This one," she said, holding up the pudgiest bundle, "because this is
the china cat, and I want Joel to have that."
Down went Polly's head on the edge of the box. Jasper dropped the long
nails and hurried over to her.
"I can't help it." Polly's shoulders were shaking, and she added
gustily, "O dear me--and Joel does so hate cats!"
"Phronsie, I think I can tuck in that parcel," Jasper made haste to
say. "There, give it to me, child," and he took it out of her hand.
"For Joel" was written across it in unsteady letters.
"Is Polly sick?" asked Phronsie, wonderingly, as she resigned her cat
into his hands.
"No, only a bit tired, I think," answered Jasper.
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