Ben turned off with the others, but presently came slowly back to stand a minute at Madam Van Ruypen's chair, where she sat with folded hands.
"Well, what is it?" she asked, looking up into his face.
"Were you picking out toys for the poor children when we saw you yesterday?" asked Ben, looking at her steadily.
"Dear me, yes; what do you suppose could have induced me to go into such a mob?" cried Madam Van Ruypen.
"Oh!" said Ben, then he turned back and set to work on doing what he could to pick out the things he should want if he were really a poor boy, not likely to get presents in any other way.
But the nicest of all things, so he thought,—thick boots, mittens, and fur tippets to keep out the cold,—were not there, and he stifled a sigh, and gave his mind to do the best he could under the circumstances.
"Something is the matter, I see." He didn't know it, but there the old lady was, close by his side, and the next words showed clearly that she had discovered what was on his mind.
"Out with it, Ben,—for that's your name, I believe."
"Yes," said Ben, "it is."
"Well, you might as well tell me, for I see very plainly that you don't think I've had the right things sent up from the stores. What would you send to poor children for their Christmas?"