“What is this I hear about a package that came for Dulcie by express this afternoon?” inquired Grandma, as the four little girls trooped into the dining-room at six o’clock. “Mary has been telling me about it.”
“It was a birthday present from Miss Leslie,” said Dulcie, “a box of the loveliest candied fruit. Wasn’t it kind of her to send it, Grandma?”
Mrs. Winslow frowned.
“Candied fruit,” she repeated. “I suppose that means you have all been eating between meals—a thing you are strictly forbidden to do. Go up-stairs at once, and bring the box down here to me. You should have done so when it first arrived.”
Dulcie gave a little gasp of dismay. It was true they had all helped themselves from the box, but that was not by any means the worst thing that had happened, for in her eagerness to give poor Miss Polly a present, she had emptied out more than half the contents of Miss Leslie’s gift. How was Grandma to be made to understand that they had not eaten all that fruit themselves, without betraying their precious secret? She and her sisters might be willing to assume the rôle of little gourmands, but would Paul? However, there was no help for it. No one had ever dared deliberately to disobey Grandma. So, with an agonized glance at her four companions, who had all turned a little pale, Dulcie left the room.
The family were already at the dinner-table when she returned, carrying the telltale box, which certainly did feel painfully light, considering its size, and set it down on the table beside Grandma’s plate.
“It took you long enough to get it,” Mrs. Winslow said, dryly. “The next time you receive a present, don’t try to conceal it from me. Just as I supposed; the box is half empty already.”
“Let me see, Mother,” said Mrs. Chester, anxiously. “Good gracious, Paul, have you been eating all those dreadful sweet things between meals?”
“I ate some,” Paul admitted. The little girls were all casting imploring glances at the sharer of their secret.
“Some!” cried Mrs. Chester, reproachfully. “You must have eaten quantities. What shall I do, Mother? He is sure to be ill to-morrow; he has such a delicate digestion.”