And everybody said, "How fine!" And they all were smiling at her. And
Adela found herself, before she knew it, coming up out of her old
despair into brightness and warmth and joy. And she never knew when old
Mr. King proclaimed her fourteen years old, and dropped a kiss--yes, he
actually did--on her head. And then she found herself on his other
side, by the big centre table, that was covered with a large cloth. And
Polly made her put her hand under it first, saying, "Oh, no, Grandpapa,
please let Adela pull out the first parcel." And lo, and behold--she
held a neat little white-papered bundle tied with a blue ribbon.

"Open it," cried Jasper, as she stood stupidly staring at it, in her
hand. "Don't you see it's got your name on it?" But Adela didn't see
anything, she was so dazed. So Jasper had to open it for her. "We may
thank our stars the first parcel happened to be for her," he was
thinking busily all the time he was untying the ribbon. And there was
just what she had wanted for, oh, so long--Mrs. Jameson's little books
on Art--her very own, she saw as soon as her trembling fingers opened
the cover.

After that, the skies might rain down anything in the shape of gifts,
as it seemed to be doing for Polly and for her; it didn't matter to
Adela; and she found herself, finally, looking over a heap of white
papers and tangled ribbons, at Polly Pepper, who was dancing about, and
thanking everybody to right and to left.

"Why don't--why don't--you--thank him?" old Mrs. Gray mumbled in her
ear, while the tears were running down her wrinkled cheeks.

"Let her alone," said old Mr. King, hearing her. "She's thanked me
enough. Now then, to breakfast, all of us! Come, Polly--come, Adela