“A mistake? What’s a mistake?”
“The notion that old people don’t have any--wants. See here. They’re having a party down there--a party, and they must have got it up themselves. Such being the case, of course they had what they wanted for entertainment--and they aren’t drinking tea or knitting socks. They’re dancing jigs and eating pink peppermints and ice cream! Their eyes are like stars, and Mother’s cheeks are like a girl’s; and if you think I’m going to offer those spry young things a brown neckerchief and a pair of bed-slippers you’re much mistaken--because I’m not!”
“But what--can--we do?” stammered Ella.
“We can buy something else here--to-night--in the village,” declared Frank; “and to-morrow morning we can go and give it to them.”
“But--buy what?”
“I haven’t the least idea,” retorted Frank, with an airy wave of his hands. “Maybe ’twill be a diamond tiara and a polo pony. Anyway, I know what ’twon’t be--’twon’t be slippers or a neckerchief!”
It was later than usual that Christmas morning when Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Bertram arose. If the old stomachs had rebelled a little at the pink peppermints and ice cream, and if the old feet had charged toll for their unaccustomed activity of the night before, neither Samuel nor Lydia Ann would acknowledge it.
“Well, we had it--that tree!” chuckled Samuel, as he somewhat stiffly thrust himself into his clothes.
“We did, Samuel,--we did,” quavered Lydia Ann joyfully, “an’ wa’n’t it nice? Mis’ Hopkins said she never had such a good time in all her life before.”