“Yours looks like something in a box too. Probably it will be a bracelet,” Jack said encouragingly, hoping that it would be, for he felt he should be almost as disappointed as Molly if it wasn’t.
Jack was the first to vanquish strings and paper, and with a yell of delight he tore the wrapper off his parcel and disclosed a beautiful, shiny black paint-box. For a few moments Mother and Father and Jack were so engrossed in examining and admiring the box that they did not notice that Molly had unwrapped her parcel, until her intense quietness was borne in upon them, and they all three turned round.
Molly stood by the side of the table gazing tearfully at a round, grey-looking thing half buried in a mass of tissue paper.
“What is it, dear?” asked Mother, crossing over to her side.
“It’s not——” began Molly, then stopped because of an uncomfortable lump in her throat.
“Let me see,” said Mother, and she picked up the grey thing and turned it over in her hands. On the other side was pinned a slip of paper, on which was written:
For Molly
Hoping she will be a good girl on her birthday and have many happy returns. I thought this useful little thing would do for her dressing-table.
With love from Aunt Phœbe