Nelly was quite overwhelmed, and could hardly gather presence of mind to send back a suitable reply.
"Open your bundle, Nelly," said Mrs. Kirkland, laughing. "You are not afraid of it, are you?"
"No," said Nelly; "only it seems so strange. I didn't ever expect to have so many presents. It don't seem as if it could be for me."
"Mr. Grayson isn't apt to make mistakes," said Miss Powell. "Come, Nelly; let us see."
Lo and behold! the parcel contained a nice warm shawl, just the thing to match the merino frock,—a serviceable and substantial work-box, and a package of the most wonderful confectionery in the world, with a tin box of tobacco for granny. A note, attached to the shawl, said,—
"For my honest little friend, Nelly. From William Grayson."
"Well," said Nelly, "I don't know whether it is me or not; but I begin to think I must have been turned into somebody else by one of those Irish fairies granny tells about. I only wish I could ever do any thing for anybody else: that's all."
"Perhaps you do more than you think, Nelly."
"But such a grand present!" said Nelly, reverting to her treasures, and opening the box. "Just see, Mrs. Kirkland,—see, Miss Powell,—a real silver thimble and all! Oh, how I do wish I could do something for him!"
"You might work him a pair of slippers, by-and-by, when we are not quite so busy," said Miss Powell. "I dare say he would like that very much. Now you had better be going home; and I would advise you to take the street-car, for you will never carry all your treasures."