“Berty!” cried the Doctor, speaking very loud, and pretending to be quite astonished. “Sure enough! the tree is quite stripped, and Berty has nothing! That’s a great oversight of yours, my good fairy; it will never do at all. Couldn’t you manage to spirit us in a present for Berty yet?”
“What shall it be?” asked Mary, paying no attention to Berty’s exclamations and assurances that the tree itself was present enough for her.
“Since you have kept her waiting so long,” said the Doctor, “I think it should be something very nice,—something, for instance, from over the sea.”
Mary nodded, and, tapping her stick three times upon the floor, sang, in a queer little piping voice, which made all the children laugh,—
“Come, fairies, good fairies, bring swiftly to me
A present for Berty from over the sea!”
Then she stood quite still for a moment, and looked towards the door, as if expecting some one; and at last nodded and waved her hand, and, dropping a courtesy to the Doctor, said, “My good Doctor, your bidding is done. You will find a present for Berty there at your right hand. If my elves have been somewhat dilatory, you must excuse them; for the package, you perceive, was rather heavy.”
The Doctor sprang quickly aside, and, sure enough, there at his right hand, half hidden by the spreading branches, was a heavy oaken chest, strongly bound with iron, which everybody stared at as if it had fallen from the sky.
“Upon me word, Miss Mary,” said Tim, “if ye’d hire out yer elves down at the docks there, ye’d make yer fortin in no time. They’re stronger than any derrick they have there, certain sure.”
“Well, Tim,” answered Polly, laughing, “I’ll think of it.”