"I'm glad you don't," laughed Henrietta. "I've nine cents left and it's got to last, for I shan't have any more until I get my allowance the first of January, unless somebody sends me money for Christmas."
"I guess," giggled Jean, fishing an empty purse from her pocket, "the rest of us couldn't scare up nine cents between us; but I have an uncle who always sends me a paper dollar every year. I've spent it in at least fifty different ways already. I always have lovely times with that dollar before it comes, but it just sort of melts away into nothing afterwards."
"I wish," breathed Mabel, fervently, "I had an uncle like that."
"Yes," agreed Henrietta, "a few uncles with the paper-dollar habit wouldn't be bad things to have."
"I caught a glimpse of your tree, Henrietta," confessed Marjory. "I stood on the balustrade outside and peeked in the window when Jean was inside. It's going to be perfectly grand; but of course I didn't mean to peek. I just got up there because I was too excited to stay on the ground."
"So did I," owned Bettie.
"I wonder," said Mabel, "where Mr. Black's tree is. We were in all the downstairs rooms and I didn't see a sign of it."
"Probably," teased Henrietta, "he's forgotten to order one. Unless one forms the habit very early in life, one is very apt to overlook little things like that."
"Mr. Black never forgets," assured Bettie.