“Very well,” said Katy, laying aside her hood, with one final glance.  “Take out a bundle, Clover.  It’s your turn.”

Clover’s bundle was for herself, “Evangeline,” in blue and gold; and pretty soon “Golden Legend,” in the same binding, appeared for Katy.  Both these were from Dorry.  Next came a couple of round packages of exactly the same size.  These proved to be ink-stands, covered with Russia leather:  one marked, “Katy from Johnnie,” and the other, “Clover from Phil.”  It was evident that the children had done their shopping together, for presently two long narrow parcels revealed the carved pen-handles, precisely alike; and these were labelled, “Katy from Phil,” and “Clover from Johnnie.”

What fun it was opening those bundles!  The girls made a long business of it, taking out but one at a time, exclaiming, admiring, and exhibiting to Rose, before they began upon another.  They laughed, they joked, but I do not think it would have taken much to make either of them cry.  It was almost too tender a pleasure, these proofs of loving remembrance from the little one; and each separate article seemed full of the very look and feel of home.

“What can this be?” said Katy, as she unrolled a paper and disclosed a pretty round box.  She opened.  Nothing was visible but pink cotton wool.  Katy peeped beneath, and gave a cry.

“O Clovy!  Such a lovely thing!  It’s from papa,—­of course it’s from papa.  How could he?  It’s a great deal too pretty.”

The “lovely thing” was a long slender chain for Katy’s watch, worked in fine yellow gold.  Clover admired it extremely; and her joy knew no bounds when farther search revealed another box with a precisely similar chain for herself.  It was too much.  The girls fairly cried with pleasure.

“There never was such a papa in the world!” they said.

“Yes, there is.  Mine is just as good,” declared Rose, twinkling away a little tear-drop from her own eyes.  “Now don’t cry, honeys.  Your papa’s an angel, there’s no doubt about it.  I never saw such pretty chains in my life,—­never.  As for the children, they’re little ducks.  You certainly are a wonderful family.  Katy, I’m dying to know what is in the blue parcel.”

The blue parcel was from Cecy, and contained a pretty blue ribbon for Clover.  There was a pink one also, with a pink ribbon for Katy.  Everybody had thought of the girls.  Old Mary sent them each a yard measure; Miss Finch, a thread-case, stocked with differently colored cottons.  Alexander had cracked a bag full of hickory nuts.

“Did you ever?” said, Rose, when this last was produced.  “What a thing it is to be popular!  Mrs. Hall?  Who’s Mrs. Hall?” as Clover unwrapped a tiny carved easel.

“She’s Cecy’s mother,” explained Clover.  “Wasn’t she kind to send me this, Katy?  And here’s Cecy’s photograph in a little frame for you.”

Never was such a wonderful box.  It appeared to have no bottom whatever.  Under the presents were parcels of figs, prunes, almonds, raisins, candy; under those, apples and pears.  There seemed no end to the surprises.