"I've got a letter?" repeated little Mrs. Hansell, in a bewildered way.
"Yes, yes," cried Matilda, impatiently. "Now, Mark Hansell, it's mine; I had it first." With that she slapped his red hands with her two little fists. "Anyhow, I'll keep mine on top of yours," suiting the action to the words.
"You won't get the letter," said Mark, with a grin, flattening his hands tightly over it. "Mammy, mayn't I read it? Do hurry an' say yes. Tilly's actin' just awful."
"I've got a letter?" repeated Mrs. Hansell, looking around the old kitchen. When her glance reached the big box, and pile of bundles scattered about, she clasped her hands and burst into tears. "It's too good to be true," she cried; "I can't believe it."
"Why, the box is there. See it," and Mark unguardedly hopped to his feet, ran up to it, and slapped it triumphantly with a resounding thwack.
"There—Mark Hansell, I've got it!" He turned to see Matilda, too excited to keep still, waving the letter, and hopping from one foot to the other. When she saw Mark coming, she wisely took refuge under her mother's arm, within which she tucked the letter, gripped fast in her hand.
Mrs. Hansell sat up suddenly. "Did you say there was a letter come in that box?" she demanded, unwonted energy coming into her pale, tired eyes.
"Yes, I've been a-tellin' you so for ever so long," said Mark, in great chagrin, "an' now Tilly's grabbed it away from me."
"I didn't; I had it before," said Matilda, squirming up tightly to her mother.
"Give me that letter," said her mother.