Jameson's little books
on Art--her very own, she saw as soon as her trembling fingers opened
the cover.
After that, the skies might rain down anything in the shape of gifts,
as it seemed to be doing for Polly and for her; it didn't matter to
Adela; and she found herself, finally, looking over a heap of white
papers and tangled ribbons, at Polly Pepper, who was dancing about, and
thanking everybody to right and to left.
"Why don't--why don't--you--thank him?" old Mrs. Gray mumbled in her
ear, while the tears were running down her wrinkled cheeks.
"Let her alone," said old Mr. King, hearing her. "She's thanked me
enough. Now then, to breakfast, all of us! Come, Polly--come, Adela
--Jasper, you take Mrs. Gray," and the others falling in, away they all
went down to the big dining room, to their own special table in the
centre.
"I do so love what Joey sent me, and Ben and Davie," breathed Polly,
for about the fiftieth time, patting her little money-bag which she had
hung on her belt. Then she looked at the new ring on her finger very
lovingly, and the other hand stole up to pinch the pin on her trim
necktie, and see if it were really there. "Oh, Jasper, if the boys were
only here!" she whispered, under cover of the chatter and bustle around
the table.
"Don't let us think of that, Polly," Jasper made haste to say; "it will
make father feel so badly if he thinks you are worrying.
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