An orange, candy, a gay little purse filled with golden pennies, a box of colored pencils, a silver thimble, for Anne Marie dearly loved to sew.
It was remarkable how many presents the little Noel had managed to put into one small shoe.
And down in the very toe, where Anne Marie might never have thought of looking—only, of course, she did—was a box, and in the box a ring, a real gold ring, set with three stones of a most lovely shade of blue.
‘Turquoise, they are called,’ said Papa Durant.
The ring fitted Anne Marie exactly. How had the little Noel known the size of her finger so well?
But Anne Marie spent little time in thinking of that. She had something so tell—the Visit of the Christmas Angel.
As she told her story, Papa Durant nodded and nodded again.
‘True, true,’ murmured he when Anne Marie had finished. ‘It was truly an Angel that you saw last night.’
But Maman only laughed softly and said, ‘But was it not all a Christmas dream, Anne Marie?’
Anne Marie shook her head doubtfully. For a moment she did not know quite what to say or think. Perhaps it was a dream. But no, Anne Marie felt almost certain that a real shining Angel had stood beside her bed last night.