Robert followed them, silently, up the stairs to the sitting room, strewn now with paper wrappings and a confusion of toys. Tad was standing in the middle of the floor buckling on a wide military belt trimmed with metal. Hanging from it was a small sword. Tad worked awkwardly because his hands were lost in great white gauntlet gloves that reached almost to his elbows.
“From Mr. Stanton,” he grinned, patting the belt. “I thought he didn’t like me. I thought he didn’t like boys.”
“He likes being Secretary of War,” said Robert dryly. He reached for a small package. “This is for you, Mama. The man said these things were real jade from China.”
Mary took the parcel eagerly, kissed Robert, undid the wrapping, exclaimed over the necklace, pin, and earbobs.
“Oh, Bob, they’re so pretty! I can wear them with my green taffeta.”
She was a child for trinkets, Lincoln was thinking indulgently. He was glad that he had given her the big white muff. She would love carrying it to parties and on their carriage drives, nestling her two little round chins into the delicate fur. He thanked Robert for a pair of gold cuff links and there was laughter when they discovered that his gift to Robert had been an almost identical pair.
“At least,” said Robert, “I shall have the distinction of imitating the President of the United States.”
“Well, they’ll fasten your shirt sleeves anyway,” drawled Lincoln. “That’s all a man can ask of them.”
Tad strutted around the room flourishing his sword. He gulped the last of his milk hastily at his mother’s command, put on his uniform cap, and swished a shine on the toes of his boots with his cuff.
“Now I have to show these to the boys,” he announced.