“What age?” queried the other, sweetly.
“Two and a half.”
“My dear sir! they would be disconsolate if they were overlooked! Children understand these matters astonishingly soon.”
And having ascertained the sex of the twins, she selected two rubber balls, and two sets of building blocks for their delectation.
“Our porter will take them for you,” she said, amused at Mr. Dryden’s amazed contemplation of the dimensions of the pyramid she constructed of his purchases. “Please favor us with your address!”
“Really, a little more practice will render me an adept in toy shopping!” thought Mr. Dryden, complacently, when he was beyond the enchanted ground, the seductions of which had lightened both heart and pocket. “It is not a disagreeable or difficult operation, after all.”
As he neared his own door on his return, his pockets crammed with conical packages of sugar-plums, nuts, and crystallized fruits, he overtook the porter with his barrow.
“Quietly, my man!” he said, inserting his latch-key in the lock with secret trepidation of spirit. “It would never do to awaken the children. Or to attract my wife’s attention,” he added, inly.
The porter’s load was transferred to the hall so silently that even Mrs. Dryden’s cat-like ears did not hear any bustle. Mr. Dryden sent the man off with a gratuity, and proceeded to dispose of the presents in the following style: the table bestraddled the right arm, and upon it were the boxes of crockery, surmounted by the chairs; the case of jackstraws and several other light articles. The velocipede was borne in like manner upon the left coat sleeve; then came the wheelbarrow; the boxes of building-blocks, the balls, and on the top, held firmly in its place by Mr. Dryden’s chin, was the doll, In the right hand he carried the sled; in the other Dolly’s carriage. This staid, prosaic pater-familias would have made no bad representation of the patron saint of the anniversary, the suggestion of whose existence he had scouted, a few hours previously, as he slowly ascended the stairs on tiptoe, his face radiant with arch delight, despite the cowardly fear tugging at his heart-strings, as to the reception in store for him at the hands of his better half. Treading yet more delicately, in passing his sleeping-room, wherein, he had no doubt, Mrs. Dryden was soundly reposing, it being ten o’clock, her invariable bedtime, he pushed open the door of the smaller chamber beyond, and entered. The gas was burning—not brightly—but it enabled him to see with terrible distinctness the figure that started up in the aisle between the beds and confronted him with an excited air. It was his wife!
Dropping the curtain upon a tableau which the reader can picture to himself better than I can describe, we will take a step or two backward in our story.