trembling. Her little sister's unselfish delight made her conscience
hurt. Putting her arms around her mother's neck, she hid her face
against her shoulder. "Oh, mother," she sobbed, "I don't deserve it all!
Here I've been so fretful and discontented all day, thinking there'd
never be any good times any more, and that there was nothing but work
ahead of me, and all the time this beautiful surprise was on its way. I
don't deserve for it to be mine. It ought to be Mary's. She never frets
over things."

Mrs. Ware looked down into Mary's face, still a-smile with the thought
of her sister's pleasure, and said: "Mary is to have a little slice of
this, too. I wonder what she will say when she sees a certain pink
parasol that I saw in that box, and a white sash with pink rosebuds on
it, and slippers that I'm sure wouldn't fit anything else in the house
but her own wigglesome little feet."

Mary's hands came together ecstatically, with a long-drawn "Oh!" Then
she clasped her mother around the knees, demanding, breathlessly:

"Anything for Holland in that box?"

"Yes."

"Anything for Jack?"

"Yes."

"Anything for the baby?"

Mrs. Ware nodded.