At last they were all opened, and there remained not one little red bow
to untie. On the table, in all their pristine glory, lay the presents,
and half-buried in bits of paper and red ribbon sat the amazed, but
blissfully happy, little old man and little old woman. Lydia Ann's lips
parted, but the trembling words of thanks froze on her tongue--her eyes
had fallen on a small pink peppermint on the floor.
"No, no, we can't take 'em," she cried agitatedly. "We hadn't ought to.
We was wicked and ongrateful, and last night we--we--" She paused
helplessly, her eyes on her husband's face. "Samuel, you--you tell," she
faltered.
Samuel cleared his throat.
"Well, ye see, we--yes, last night, we--we--" He could say no more.
"We--we had a party to--to make up for things," blurted out Lydia Ann.
"And so ye see we--we hadn't ought ter take these--all these!"
Frank winced. His face grew a little white as he threw a quick glance
into his sister's eyes; but his voice, when he spoke, was clear and
strong from sheer force of will.
"A party? Good! I'm glad of it. Did you enjoy it?" he asked.
Samuel's jaw dropped. Lydia Ann stared speechlessly. This cordial
approval of their folly was more incomprehensible than had been the
failure to relegate them to naps and knitting earlier in the afternoon.
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