The little ones danced about gayly with out-cries of delight, and Marion was dumb with admiration at her first sight of a real Christmas-tree. She had read of them often, but never imagined they could be so beautiful.
Mr. Ashley, with a tiny hand in each of his, began dancing his little granddaughters about to the waltz which was trilled out by an immense music-box, till Mrs. Clifford reminded him that they were all pining for a view of their presents. So he put on an absurdly serious manner and began to gather the fruit that Santa Claus had raised in his own private hot-house, as he expressed it.
The first fruit plucked was a beautiful doll, which was handed to little Hilda Ashley, who received it enthusiastically. Its twin was given to her oldest little cousin, and small Master Clifford received a box that stood under the tree, being too heavy to hang upon it. The young gentleman was immediately lost to sight behind the box, but his approval of the contents, as his nurse took them out, was distinctly audible. Horses and their attachments had been his craze all of his short life, and the majestic pair of bays with a big, solid express-wagon that filled the box, were almost large enough for actual service.
There were many other presents for the children, which were taken in charge by their mothers, and then Mr. Ashley said Santa Claus owed them an apology for entirely forgetting to provide any thing for the grown folks. Katie whispered to Marion that he had made that same remark every year since she could remember; but even if it was not strictly original on the present occasion it was thought irresistibly funny, for while he was sadly shaking his head over the misfortune he was untying the blue ribbon which held a morocco box to the tree. This he handed mournfully to young Mrs. Ashley, whose eyes sparkled as she opened it and discovered an opal ring with a brilliant setting of diamonds. She flashed an appreciative look at her husband, who was watching her, and Marion felt sure the ring had been presented by him.
Mrs. Clifford had from her husband a reminder that the day was also the anniversary of their wedding, in the shape of a lovely pin modeled from an antique Swedish wedding-gift.
The young men received a collection of umbrellas, canes, pins, and sleeve-buttons, and then more boxes with gifts from father and mother and friends were taken down and given to their wives. Then Mr. Ashley, in a puzzled way, declared it seemed astonishing that three young and interesting girls should be left out when every one else was remembered. Even Mrs. Ashley, he said, had her pile, and a goodly pile it was. Katie abused him roundly as he slowly inspected parcels and boxes on the tree and on the table behind it, and declared she would jump over the ribbon that was stretched across that end of the room for a dividing-line. At last he slowly took down a square flat box, then laid it on the table, remarking in a hopeless way that the writing was upside-down.
“Turn it the other way,” cried Katie, stamping her foot in mock anger.
“What a head you have!” said her father, and he frisked around to the other side of the table as if the little box itself could not be turned. “Why, it’s your own name,” he added, in great surprise.
“So it is, but you didn’t read it all;” and Katie handed the box to Lily, pointing to the inscription, “From Katherine Stowe Ashley to Lily Dart.”
There was a beautiful handkerchief with an embroidered edge in it, and another box, handed then to Marion, held one just like it.