When I came back there was a wild excitement around our entrance. A delivery wagon had driven up in great haste, and by the light of the street lamp I recognized on it the sign of our department store. A hunted-looking driver had leaped out and was hastily running over his book. Yes, it was our name—our things had come at last—better late than never! The driver was diving back into his wagon and presently hauled out something long and round and wrapped up.
"Here you are," he said triumphantly. "Sign for it, please."
"But," we gasped, "where's the rest of the things? There's ever so much more."
"Don't know, lady. This is all I've got. Sign please, it's getting late."
"But——"
He was gone. We carried in our solitary package and opened it by the feeble flickering of a paraffine dip.
It was a Japanese umbrella-holder!
The Precious Ones and their wretched dolls held a war dance around it and admired the funny men on the sides. To us it was an Oriental mockery.
Sadly we gathered up our bags, and each taking by the hand a hungry little creature who clasped a forlorn doll to a weary little bosom, we set forth to seek food and shelter in the thronging but pitiless city.