"Poor old Bill! I see storms ahead for him," said Tom, rising and stretching his long form. "This is a hard country for men since women got the vote! I think I'll go and find Garth, and we'll compare notes on our troubles."
"Don't be late for tea, or 'Possum and I will eat all the Christmas cake!" Aileen called after him. "You'll feel that more than anything I can do with my old vote!" He flung a laughing rejoinder at her, and vanished round the corner of the veranda.
For a few minutes after his footsteps died away Aileen was silent. She was wondering how to make her gifts to 'Possum without hurting the girl's feelings. Underneath the queer, abrupt exterior she knew there lay a sensitiveness so easily wounded that only the most delicate handling would succeed—and 'Possum's independence was a sturdy growth. She might resent the presents altogether: for a moment Aileen grew almost sorry that she had prepared them, now that the time came for them to be given.
"I believe I've got stage-fright," she thought.
'Possum opened the way herself.
"I wish we bothered more about Christmas—the way you do," she said. "It'd be nice for the kids. I remember we used to keep it up before Mother died. But now we never bother."
"I love Christmas," said Aileen, "especially since I had Garth. He makes a great difference, because he believes in every bit of it, particularly Santa Claus! And it's such fun, preparing presents, even if you spend very little on them: it's the doing it that is the fun." She hesitated. "I wanted you to be in our Christmas, Possum."
"Jolly good of you," said 'Possum gruffly. "But I'm not much good to any one."
"That isn't for you to say," Aileen rejoined. "Come into my room, 'Possum." She led the way.
"I say!" said 'Possum, entering. "Oh, ain't that pretty!"