“Want them? Indeed we do! Why, Patty, there are forty little boys who want drums or trumpets and we can only give them candy and an orange. It’s harder than you’d think to get subscriptions to our funds at Christmas time, and though we’ve dolls enough, we do so want toys for the boys.”
“Well, I’ll send you some, Mrs. Morse. I’ll send them to-morrow. Do you care what they are?”
“No, indeed. Drums, or balls, or tin carts,—anything that a boy-child can play with.”
“Well, you may depend on me for the forty,” said Patty, smiling, for she had formed a sudden, secret resolve.
“Why, Patty, dear, how kind of you! I am so glad, for those children were on my mind, and I’ve already asked every one I know to give to our fund. You are a generous little girl, and I know it will gladden your own heart as well as the children’s.”
Patty ran away, and all the way home her heart was full of her project.
“If he will only consent,” she thought. “If not, I don’t know how I shall keep my promise. Oh, well, I know I can coax him to say yes.”
After dinner that evening, Patty put her plan into action.
“Father Fairfield,” she said, “what are you going to give me for a Christmas gift?”
“Well, Pattykins, that’s not considered a correct question in polite society.”