It was so hard to be repressed all the time but especially on Christmas Day of all others.
“Zen I will help you to dress immediatement, and zen Villiam, he vill call us to see ze tree.”
Never had the captious little girl been more docile, more obedient. Dressing Ethel that morning was a pleasure to Celeste. Scarcely had she completed the task and put on her own clothing when there was a tap on the door.
“Vat is it?”
“Mornin’, Miss Celeste,” spoke a heavy voice outside, a voice subdued to a decorous softness of tone, “if you an’ Miss Ethel are ready, the tree is lit, an’—”
“Ve air ready, Monsieur Villiam,” answered Celeste, throwing open the door dramatically.
Ethel opened her mouth to welcome the butler—for if that solemn and portentous individual ever unbent it was to Miss Ethel, whom in his heart of hearts he adored—but he placed a warning finger to his lip and whispered in an awestruck voice:
“The master, your father, came in late last night, Miss, an’ he said there must be no noise or racket this morning.”
Ethel nodded sadly, her eyes filling at her disappointment; William then marched down the hall with a stately magnificence peculiar to butlers, and opened the door into the playroom. He flung it wide and stood to one side like a grenadier, as Celeste and Ethel entered. There was a gorgeous tree, beautifully trimmed. William had bought the tree and Celeste’s French taste had adorned it. It was a sight to delight any child’s eyes and the things strewn around it on the floor were even more attractive. Everything that money could buy, that Celeste and William could think of was there. Ethel’s mother had given her maid carte blanche to buy the child whatever she liked, and Ethel’s father had done the same with William. The two had pooled their issue and the result was a toyshop dream. Ethel looked at the things in silence.
“How do you like it, Miss?” asked William at last rather anxiously.