Jampot's fingers, for which deed he had afterwards been slippered by
his father; there the corner where they stood for punishment (he
knew exactly how many ships with sails, how many ridges of waves,
and how many setting suns there were on that especial piece of
corner wallpaper--three ships, twelve ridges, two and a half suns);
there was the place where he had broken the ink bottle over his
shoes and the carpet, there by the window, where Mary had read to
him once when he had toothache, and he had not known whether her
reading or the toothache agonised him the more; and so on, an
endless sequence of sensational history.

His reminiscences were cut short by the appearance of Gladys with
the porridge. Gladys, who was only the between-maid, but was
nevertheless stout, breathless from her climb and the sentiment of
the occasion, produced from a deep pocket a dirty envelope, which
she laid upon the table.

"Many 'appy returns, Master Jeremy." Giggle . . . giggle. . . "Lord
save us if I 'aven't gone and forgotten they spunes," and she
vanished. The present-giving had begun.

He had an instant's struggle as to whether it were better to wait
until all the presents had accumulated, or whether he would take
them separately as they arrived. The dirty envelope lured him. He
advanced towards it and seized it. He could not read very easily the
sprawling writing on the cover, but he guessed that it said "From
Gladys to Master Jeremy." Within was a marvellous card, tied
together with glistening cord and shining with all the colours of
the rainbow. It was apparently a survival from last Christmas, as
there was a church in snow and a peal of bells; he was,