"Hear that will you, Thomas!" cried Jane. "Mr. Potter never hurried the best-tastin' ones!"
Thomas gave her a significant stare. "I tell you, a certain person is growin' keen," he said in a low voice.
Jane took Gwendolyn by the arm. "Put all that Johnnie Blake nonsense out of your head," she commanded. "Folks that live in the woods don't know nothin'. They're silly and pokey."
Gwendolyn shook her head with deliberation. "Johnny Blake wasn't pokey," she denied. "He had a willow fishpole, and a string tied to it. And he caught shiny fishes on the end of the string."
"Johnnie Blake!" sniffed Jane. "Oh, I know all about him. Rosa told me. He's a common, poor little boy. And"—severely—"I, for one, can't see why you was ever allowed to play with him!...
"Now, darlin',"—softening—"here we stand fussin', and you ain't even guessed what your presents are. Guess something that's real fine: something you'd like in the city, pettie." She began to unwrap the larger of the packages.
"Oh," said Gwendolyn. "What I'd like in the city. Well,"—suddenly between her brows there came a curious, strained little wrinkle—"I'd like—"
The white paper fell away. A large, round box was disclosed. To it was tied a small card.
"This is from your papa!" cried Jane. "Oh, let's see what it is!"
The wrinkle smoothed. A smile broke,—like sudden sunlight after clouds, and shadow. Then there poured forth all that had filled her heart during the past months: