Well, it was a pleasant sight to see the twinkle in the doctor’s tired eyes as he looked round the table at his five children, and exchanged a smile of comradeship with his pretty wife. His long delicate hand, the true doctor’s hand, lifted the topmost parcel from the tray, and held it aloft while he read aloud the laborious inscription—“‘To Miles, hopping he will like it, from Pam.’ Here you are, Miles!” and down the table it went, from one eager pair of hands to another, while Pam blushed a vivid red, and wriggled bashfully on her chair.
There were a great many wrappings, and the dimensions of the parcel diminished so rapidly as to excuse serious fears that it contained nothing more substantial than a joke, but such an idea was an insult to Pam’s generosity. She had bestowed much thought on the choice of this special present, and could not in the least understand the roar of laughter which rose from every side as the last paper fell away to disclose a magnificent sixpenny tooth-brush in all its creamy splendour.
Miles’ face was a study as he gazed upon it, and turned it speculatively to and fro.
“Anything personal meant, Pam?” he inquired, and, “Yes, please, Miles!” replied innocent Pam, and blushed again to the verge of tears at the second shout of merriment.
“It’s a very useful present, dear,” Mrs Trevor said consolingly, and hastened to give the conversation a turn by doling out another parcel from her own tray.
“‘Betty, with love from Jill.’”
It was a very small parcel, and Betty looked at it with suspicion, remembering the sticking-plaster and watered eau de Cologne, but things turned out better than she expected, the enclosure being quite a pretty hat-pin, of a colour to match her best hat.
“Just what I wanted!” was both the true and the gracious manner of acknowledging this trophy, as also the book from Jack, and the gloves from Miles, which presently fell to her share. Then it was the doctor’s turn, his wife having retired behind the screen to bring forth an enormous parcel, which could only be laid on a chair by his side, since it was far too big to place on the table itself.
“For me? Why, what can this be? It feels like a blanket!” he cried in astonishment, and his face was a picture of mingled surprise, pleasure, and consternation, as a handsome fur-lined carriage rug was presently revealed to view. “Oh, this is too much! This won’t do! Edith, what reckless extravagance!”
“Not extravagance at all,” his wife answered sturdily. “You must be kept warm, driving about from morning till night. It is nothing less than a necessity which you ought to have had years ago. Besides, it’s not my gift alone—it’s a joint affair. The children all contributed—it’s from all six of us, with our best love to you, dearest.”