As the girls chattered, they entered their bedrooms to exchange their house dresses for their khaki riding habits.
“There’s little Pat on the cow-pony that you told him he might ride,” Margaret said, looking out of the window.
“I will ask him if he would like to go with us,” Virginia remarked. The little lad was delighted to accompany the two girls, and half an hour later the three were riding along the desert trail toward the Slater Ranch, where they were to meet Malcolm.
“I just love Christmas, don’t you, Virg?” Margaret exclaimed, when, the deep dry creek having been crossed, the girls were cantering along on the hard sand side by side. “It’s such fun to get packages by mail and then put them away to keep until Christmas. Of course I know just where they are, and every now and then I peek at them and try to guess from the shape what is in them, but I am strong-minded about it. I never do really open them until Christmas morning, do you?”
Virginia laughed. “I’ll have to confess that last year I opened a long, mysterious box the moment it arrived. I was so eager to see if it was the something that I wanted most, and it was.”
“What was it?” the other asked with interest.
“A set of grey fox furs,” Virginia replied. “Brother shot the fox in the early winter and I had said what an adorable set of furs could be made from the skin. Well, I noticed that it disappeared from Buddie’s room, but I wasn’t real sure what had become of it until that box arrived from the town furrier.”
Suddenly the girls noticed that the little Irish boy riding near was listening with wide-eyed interest.
“Well, Little Pat,” Margaret said gaily, “a penny for your thoughts.”
“But Miss Virginia,” was the reply, “Christmas presents don’t come on the train. Weren’t you after knowin’ that it’s the good St. Nick as brings them?”