Evangeline. Aunt Evangeline's gift was a centipede--a live centipede
that ran gaily off the tablecloth on to Aunt Evangeline's lap before
anyone could stop it. With a yell that sent William's father to the
library with his hands to his ears, Aunt Evangeline leapt to her chair
and stood with her skirts held to her knees.

"Help! Help!" she cried. "The horrible boy! Catch it! Kill it!"

Jimmy gazed at her in amazement, and Barbara looked with interest at
Aunt Evangeline's long expanse of shin.

"_My_ legs isn't like _your_ legs," she said pleasantly and
conversationally. "My legs is knees."

It was some time before order was restored, the centipede killed, and
Jimmy's remaining gifts thrown out of the window. William looked
across the table at Jimmy with respect in his eye. Jimmy, in spite of
his youth, was an acquaintance worth cultivating. Jimmy was eating
porridge unconcernedly.

Aunt Evangeline had rushed from the room when the slaughter of the
centipede had left the coast clear, and refused to return. She carried
on a conversation from the top of the stairs.

"When that horrible child has gone, I'll come. He may have insects
concealed on his person. And someone's been dropping water all over
these stairs. They're _damp_!"

"Dear, dear!" murmured Aunt Jane, sadly.