"Yes," said the Baroness, relaxing a little before this flattering appreciation. "Yes. It was. Some people would call it chance. But we, as Christians, knew it was heaven."
"But how punctual," said Ingeborg admiringly, "how tidy!"
"Yes, yes," mused the Baroness, relaxing still more in the warm moisture of remembrance, "they were happy times. Happy, happy times. One's little ones coming and going—"
"Oh? Did they go as well as come?" asked Ingeborg, lowering her voice to condolence.
"About one's knees, I mean, and the house."
"Oh, yes," said Ingeborg, relieved.
"Every year the Christmas candles shining down on an addition to our treasures. Every year the gifts of past Christmases gathered about the tree again, bigger and stronger instead of being lost or broken as they would have been if they had been any other kind of gift."
"But what happened when there weren't any more to give?"
"Then I gave my husband cigar-cases."
"Oh."