Mabel hesitated, plainly rebellious. In each hand was a gray worsted bed-slipper; atop of her yellow curls was a brown neckerchief, cap fashion.
There were exclamations from two men, and Ned came forward hurriedly. “Oh, I say, Ella,” he remonstrated, “you didn’t get those for presents, did you?”
“But I did. Why not?” questioned Ella.
“Why, I got slippers, you see. I never can think of anything else. Besides, they’re always good, anyhow. But I should think you, a woman, could think of something--”
“Never mind,” interrupted Ella airily. “Mother’s a dear, and she won’t care if she does get two pairs.”
“But she won’t want three pairs,” groaned Frank; “and I got slippers too!”
There was a moment of dismayed silence, then everybody laughed.
Ella was the first to speak. “It’s too bad, of course, but never mind. Mother’ll see the joke of it just as we do. You know she never seems to care what we give her. Old people don’t have many wants, I fancy.”
Frank stirred suddenly and walked the length of the room. Then he wheeled about.
“Do you know,” he said, a little unsteadily, “I believe that’s a mistake?”