"We--we had a party to--to make up for things," blurted out Lydia Ann.
"And so ye see we--we hadn't ought ter take these--all these!"

Frank winced. His face grew a little white as he threw a quick glance
into his sister's eyes; but his voice, when he spoke, was clear and
strong from sheer force of will.

"A party? Good! I'm glad of it. Did you enjoy it?" he asked.

Samuel's jaw dropped. Lydia Ann stared speechlessly. This cordial
approval of their folly was more incomprehensible than had been the
failure to relegate them to naps and knitting earlier in the afternoon.

"And you've got another party to-night, too; haven't you?" went on Frank
smoothly. "As for those things there"--he waved his hand toward the
table--"of course you'll take them. Why, we picked them out on purpose
for you,--every single one of them,--and only think how we'd feel if you
didn't take them! Don't you--like them?"

"'Like them'!" cried Lydia Ann, and at the stifled sob in her voice
three men and three women caught their breath sharply and tried to
swallow the lumps in their throats. "We--we just love them!"

No one spoke. The grandchildren stared silently, a little awed. Ella,
Frank, and Ned stirred restlessly and looked anywhere but at each other.

Lydia Ann flushed, then paled. "Of course, if--if you picked 'em
out 'specially for us--" she began hesitatingly, her eyes anxiously
scanning the perturbed faces of her children.