“What is that?” asked his wife.
“It is the list, my dear, of the presents that our young friends would like. I shall have to run up to town the day after to-morrow to get them.”
“I can’t think, Paul,” said his wife, “why you did not buy anything that took your fancy, instead of putting yourself to this unnecessary trouble.”
“I always like to do things in the best possible way,” was his answer. “A present can mean a great deal to a little boy or girl, and, carelessly given, it means little or nothing. Now I know what the youngsters want, and I must say their requests are modest, poor dears.”
“Show me the list, will you?” said Mrs. Wyndham. Her husband put it into her hand. She ran her eyes quickly down the different items, and suddenly she uttered an exclamation. “Surely, Paul, you are not going to give Peggy an Irish terrier?”
“Surely I am. Why, shouldn’t the poor child have a pet? I can get her a nice dog at the Army and Navy Stores.”
“Oh, but don’t you know what a fool she will make of herself over it, and I positively cannot bear dogs in the house.”
“My dear wife, you sha’n’t be worried with Peggy’s dog. I’ll see to that.”
“You’ll ruin that child, Paul; you’ll rue it yet. I wish you only knew what poor little Kitty says about her. Now that’s a nice child, if you like!”
“Honestly, my dear wife, can you tell me that you would compare Peggy and Kitty?”