"You see," explained Henrietta, "I told Father, months ago, to send me a lot of little things to give away for Christmas and of course he bought boxes. I believe he buys every one he sees."
"They're darlings," declared Jean, dreamily. "They take you away to far-off places where things smell old and—and magnificent."
"It's the grown-upness of my presents that I like," explained eleven-year-old Mabel, with a big sigh of satisfaction. "It's lovely to have people treat you as if you were somebody."
"You see," laughed Marjory, "it's only two years ago that an absent-minded aunt of Mr. Bennett's sent Mabel a rattle, and the poor child can't forget it."
"Miss 'Enrietta," inquired Santa Claus, anxiously, when the Slater tree, too, had been stripped of all but its decorations, "might Hi be hexcused now? Hi'm due at a Christmas ball and Hi'm hawfully afride these togs is meltin' me 'igh collar."
"Yes," laughed Henrietta, "you've done nobly and I hope you'll have a lovely time at the party."
It was half-past ten before the Cottagers got to bed that night—a long day because they had risen so early.
"But," breathed Bettie, happily, "when days are as nice as this I like 'em long."
"It's nice to have friends," said Jean.
"I wish," sighed Mabel, "they'd make some kind of a watch that had to be wound every hour; it seems awfully hard to wait until morning."