tingled through every inch of him. Helen should sit in the chair
when she pleased; Mary should be allowed to dress and undress the
large woollen dog, known as "Sulks," his own especial and beloved
property, so often as she wished; Jampot should poke the twisted end
of the towel in his ears and brush his hair with the hard brushes,
and he would not say a word. Aunt Mary should kiss him (as, of
course, she would want to do), and he would not shiver; he would
(bravest deed of all) allow Mary to read "Alice in Wonderland" in
her sing-sing voice so long as ever she wanted. . . Sausages!
Sausages!

In his shirt and his short blue trousers, his hair on end, tugging
at his braces, he stood in the doorway and shouted:

"Helen, there are sausages--because it's my birthday. Aren't you
glad?”

And even when the only response to his joyous invitation was Helen's
voice crossly admonishing the Jampot: "Oh, you do pull so; you're
hurting!"--his charity was not checked.

Then when he stood clothed and of a cheerful mind once more in front
of the fire a shyness stole over him. He knew that the moment for
Presents was approaching; he knew that very shortly he would have to
kiss and be kissed by a multitude of persons, that he would have to
say again and again, "Oh, thank you, thank you so much!" that he
would have his usual consciousness of his inability to thank anybody
at all in the way that they expected to be thanked. Helen and Mary
never worried about such things. They delighted in kissing and
hugging and multitudes of words. If only he might have had his