"I haven't the least idea," retorted Frank, with an airy wave of his
hands. "Maybe 'twill be a diamond tiara and a polo pony. Anyway, I know
what 'twon't be--'twon't be slippers or a neckerchief!"

* * * * *

It was later than usual that Christmas morning when Mr. and Mrs. Samuel
Bertram arose. If the old stomachs had rebelled a little at the pink
peppermints and ice cream, and if the old feet had charged toll for
their unaccustomed activity of the night before, neither Samuel nor
Lydia Ann would acknowledge it.

"Well, we had it--that tree!" chuckled Samuel, as he somewhat stiffly
thrust himself into his clothes.

"We did, Samuel,--we did," quavered Lydia Ann joyfully, "an' wa'n't it
nice? Mis' Hopkins said she never had such a good time in all her life
before."

"An' Uncle Tim an' Grandpa Gowin'--they was as spry as crickets, an'
they made old Pete tune up that 'Money Musk' three times 'fore they'd
quit"

"Yes; an'--my grief an' conscience, Samuel! 'tis late, ain't it?" broke
off Lydia Ann, anxiously peering at the clock. "Come, come, dear, you'll
have ter hurry 'bout gettin' that tree out of the front room 'fore
the children get here. I wouldn't have 'em know for the world how silly
we've been--not for the world!"