without any mask, and of course it was nobody but cousin Percy "with his
face off."

Then they all fell to work sorting out presents. Prudy seized her fur
tippet, and put it on at once.

"O, how pretty I look," said she; "just like a little cat! _Ain't_ I
cunning?"

But nobody could pause to attend to Prudy, though she chatted very fast,
without commas or periods, and held up to view a large wax doll which
"would be alive if it could talk." They all had gifts as well as Prudy,
and wished to talk rather than to listen. They asked questions without
waiting for answers, and did not mind interrupting one another, and
talking all at once, like a party of school children.

All this was hardly polite, it is true; but people are sometimes
surprised out of their good manners on Christmas evenings, and must be
forgiven for it, as such a good time happens but once a year.

Percy broke in with an old song, and went through with a whole stanza of
it, although no one listened to a word:--

"Good luck unto old Christmas,
And long life let us sing,
For he doeth more good unto the poor
Than many a crownéd king."

"My beautiful books!" cried aunt Madge; "Russia morocco."