“Evelyn, darling, what is it?” whispered Maria.
“You'll laugh at me.”
“No, I won't, honest, precious.”
“Honest?”
“Yes, honest, dear.”
“Were those all the presents I had?”
“Yes, of course, I brought you all you had, dear.”
Evelyn murmured something inarticulate against Maria's breast.
“What is it, dear, sister didn't hear?”
“I hung a book on the tree for him,” choked Evelyn, “and I thought maybe—I thought—”