"Why, Evelina, why shouldn't I, I sh'ld like to know? Ain't
it your birthday, dear?" She put out her arms with the awkwardness
of habitually repressed emotion.

Evelina, without seeming to notice the gesture, threw back the
jacket from her narrow shoulders.

"Oh, pshaw," she said, less peevishly. "I guess we'd better
give up birthdays. Much as we can do to keep Christmas nowadays."

"You hadn't oughter say that, Evelina. We ain't so badly off
as all that. I guess you're cold and tired. Set down while I take
the kettle off: it's right on the boil."

She pushed Evelina toward the table, keeping a sideward eye on
her sister's listless movements, while her own hands were busy with
the kettle. A moment later came the exclamation for which she
waited.

"Why, Ann Eliza!" Evelina stood transfixed by the sight of
the parcel beside her plate.

Ann Eliza, tremulously engaged in filling the teapot, lifted
a look of hypocritical surprise.

"Sakes, Evelina! What's the matter?"

The younger sister had rapidly untied the string, and drawn
from its wrappings a round nickel clock of the kind to be bought
for a dollar-seventy-five.