There were only a blue cornucopia and an orange and a bottle of olives
in his stocking, a Christmas card from his sister Ella, a necktie from
grandmamma, and nothing, as his quick eye had noted, under it on the
floor; but now George importantly stooped down, drew a narrow package
from under the sofa and laid it beside his father, pulling off the
paper. Inside was a slim, longish, gray linen bag. Langshaw studied it
for a moment before opening it.

"Well, I'll be jiggered!" he breathed, with a strange glance round at
the waiting group and an odd, crooked smile. "I'll be jiggered!"

There in its neatly grooved sections lay the rod, ready to be put
together--not a rod, but, as his eye almost unbelievingly reassured him,
_the_ rod--the ticket of the shop adorning it--in all its beauty of
golden shellac and delicate tip. His fingers touched the pieces
reverently.

"Well, will you look at that! How did you ever think of getting it?"

"How did I think of it? Because you talked about it all the time," said
his wife scornfully, with her arms round his neck from behind, while the
children flung themselves upon him. "Oh, I know you thought you didn't;
but you did just the same. George heard you, too. We got Mr. Wickersham
to pick it out. He said it was the one you wanted. And the reel--you
haven't noticed that box there--the reel is the right kind, he says; and
the line is silk--the best. There's the book of flies too--six. Baby's
crazy over them! Mr. Wickersham said it was all just what you ought to
have. We've been saving up for the longest time; but we had to wait, you
see, for George's deportment before the things could be bought. If it