"Yes, he has asked for you."
"But I'm busy."
"Never mind, Babe. Please hurry down, for I am too busy to stay with him, and I don't like to leave him alone."
"Oh, I really don't think he would steal the spoons," Phebe said languidly, as she rose. "Well, if I must, I suppose I must. I'll be down before long."
She turned to her closet and took down a dark red gown which had just come home from the dressmaker. It was the most becoming gown she had ever owned, and Phebe was quite aware of the fact. She laid it on the bed and stood looking at it for a minute or two. Then she shut her lips resolutely, hung it up again, picked a loose thread or two from the plain blue gown she wore, and marched down the stairs.
Mr. Barrett rose to greet her, as she came stalking into the room. His manner was boyishly eager, his eyes brimming with mischief, as he took her hand and then offered her a small round package wrapped in dainty blue papers.
"Merry Christmas, Miss McAlister! Wasn't it too bad of the snow to spoil our drive?"
"I like a white Christmas," Phebe said perversely. "What's this?"
"A little offering for the season's greeting," he said, laughing. "It is really only a case of returning your own to you."
She took the package in her hands, and, as her fingers closed over it, she began to laugh in her turn.