Dear, dear, nine presents are a good many to buy and it took the four little Blossoms several minutes to decide how much they had to spend on each gift. They sat down on somebody’s doorstep while Bobby figured it out for them. He said they must spend exactly the same amount on each present because he couldn’t be working out arithmetic examples all morning.
“Dot can spend five and one-tenth cents on each present,” announced Bobby after much hard work with a stubby pencil and a slip of paper from Meg’s bag.
“I’d rather it came out even,” objected Dot.
“It can’t,” Bobby informed her. “That’s arithmetic. Meg can spend seven and two-sixty-fifths cents.”
“You can’t buy anything for that,” pouted Meg. “I tell you what let’s do—divide up the presents; you get one for Norah and I’ll get one for Sam. And Dot can get something for Aunt Miranda, and Twaddles can get a present for Uncle David. Like that, you know.”
The four little Blossoms thought this was a sensible plan, after they had talked it over, though Bobby said he wished Meg had thought of it before he done had so much arithmetic.
“I’m going to get a present for Mother and Daddy,” he added.
Each of the children were determined to buy a present for Father and Mother Blossom, so that was understood, too. And when they reached the five-and-ten-cent store, they separated, because Christmas shopping should always be a secret. Bobby left the sled with the boy who kept a paper stand next door, and he was the first one through with his shopping. He had to wait nearly half an hour and then Meg and Dot struggled out of the crowd together, their arms full of small packages. Twaddles was the last one to come and he carried one large bundle that was so big around he could scarcely clasp his hands about it.
“Did you spend all your money for one thing?” asked Meg curiously, while they piled their purchases on the sled.
“No, the others are inside of that,” replied Twaddles, gazing at his bundle with loving pride. “But you can’t see ’em.”