She stood looking up into his face, her hands on his shoulders, and her neat, blue-gowned figure tense with happiness.
“My! but you’re growing every day—and you ain’t growin’ thin nuther. Your ma was jest such a gal when I married her. Wal, I reckon we’ll have to git started. It gits dark purty quick nowadays, and Jim’s waitin’—”
“What beautiful furs. Oh, Pop, they’re for—”
“Miss Wilkins’s Christmas present from Swickey and her Pa. They’s a bundle in the sleigh fur you, too. Jim says it’s from Boston,—like ’nuff he knows,—seein’ he called at the station fur it,—and mebby you kin guess who sent it.”
Swickey’s face flushed slightly, but she said nothing.
“If you git ready now, Swickey, we kin go.”
“All right, Pop. Shall I bring my snowshoes?”
“You might fetch ’em. No tellin’ how things’ll be gettin’ home to-night. Bundle up good—it’s nippy.”
“Nippy? Huh!” exclaimed Swickey, as she hurried to her little bedroom upstairs. “It’s just grand and I love it.”
She took off her shoes, drew on an extra pair of heavy stockings, and going to her trunk brought out her small moosehide moccasins which she laced up snugly about her trim ankles. Then she bowed to herself in the small mirror, and, gathering up her skirts, danced to and fro across the room with girlish exuberance and happiness. Panting, she dropped to her knees before her trunk and found her “best” fur cap and gloves.