For one amazed instant there was absolute silence; then Lydia Ann drew a
long breath.
"Samuel, Samuel, they're presents--an' for us!" she quavered joyously.
"It's the bed-slippers and the neckerchiefs, an' they did 'em all up in
white paper an' red ribbons just for us."
At the corner of the mantelpiece a woman choked suddenly and felt for
her handkerchief. Behind her two men turned sharply and walked toward
the window; but the little old man and the little old woman did not
notice it. They had forgotten everything but the enchanting array of
mysteries before them.
Trembling old hands hovered over the many-sized, many-shaped packages,
and gently patted the perky red bows; but not until the grandchildren
impatiently demanded, "Why don't you look at 'em?" did they venture to
untie a single ribbon. Then the old eyes shone, indeed, at sight of the
wonderful things disclosed; a fine lace tie and a bottle of perfume; a
reading-glass and a basket of figs; some dates, raisins, nuts, and
candies, and a little electric pocket lantern which would, at the
pressure of a thumb, bring to light all the secrets of the darkest of
rooms. There were books, too, such as Ella and Frank themselves liked to
read; and there was a handsome little clock for the mantel--but there
was not anywhere a pair of bed-slippers or a neckerchief.
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