"Can you go, dear?" asked Mrs. Merrill. "I expect that's the delivery man with your sewing."
Could Mary Jane go? Well, indeed she could! She rushed down the stairs as fast as she could go and opened the front door in such a jiffy that the delivery man jumped with surprise as she said, "Is it my sewing?"
"Search me," he answered, "it's a box." And he handed her the parcel.
"Oh, dear, then it isn't," said Mary Jane much disappointed; and she turned and went slowly up the stairs—so slowly, that you would never have guessed, from the time it took her to go up, that they were the same stairs she had so quickly hurried down not two minutes before.
"It isn't it," she announced sadly at the door of her mother's room.
"Oh, yes, I guess it is," said Mrs. Merrill, and Mary Jane noticed that she didn't seem a bit worried. "It must be, because I haven't bought anything else. Come over here and let's see."
She pulled her chair up to the window and turned Mary Jane's little rocker facing it. "Now, let's see what it is," she said; "maybe you'd like to open it."
Mary Jane would. She pulled off the string, unfolded the paper—and what do you suppose she found inside? The prettiest box you ever saw! On it was a picture of a little girl, about as old as Mary Jane maybe, and some queer looking cards, pictures of the cards, that is, and some gay looking colors that appeared to be pictures of colored thread.
"Why, it is my sewing, isn't it, mother?" exclaimed Mary Jane in happy surprise.
"Looks like it, doesn't it, dear?" agreed Mrs. Merrill. "Suppose you open it to be sure."