received on Christmas Day, and, like all boys, he felt that time was
very precious when he was going to buy anything of that sort.

"Now I suppose I've got to wait," he soliloquized, as he threw himself
into the swivel-chair in front of his father's desk. "It'll be noon
before I get a chance to try the gun, I dare say."

He played with a paper-cutter at first; but soon his attention was
attracted by a letter on the desk, the superscription of which was in a
familiar hand.

He picked it up at once, for his Aunt Susan Dent's letters were always
public property at home. His father never failed to bring them home and
read them aloud at the supper-table. So Sidney drew this letter from the
envelope without hesitation.

He had always received a five-dollar bill every Christmas from his aunt,
but this year the day had come and gone without the customary present,
and he gave an exclamation of joy when, on unfolding the letter, a
five-dollar bill fell out.

"For me, of course. Better late than never," muttered Sidney, as he
hastily glanced over the letter.

Yes, his aunt intended the money for him.

She wrote that she had been too ill to write just before Christmas, but
that Sidney would probably rather have the gift come late than not at
all.