Some three minutes later four flushed-faced and very joyous youths burst into the Widow Deane’s shop. To the jangling of the little bell in the back room Polly appeared, a very pretty, bright-eyed Polly this morning in a new Christmas dress.
“Merry Christmas!” she cried. “Merry Christmas, Nid! Merry Christmas, Bob! Merry Christmas, George! Merry Christmas, Nod!”
Perhaps Laurie should have felt hurt that his own greeting had come last; but he wasn’t, for a glance went with it that hadn’t accompanied the others. But, although the boys answered the greetings in chorus, it was apparent to Polly that they were there for another purpose than to wish her a Merry Christmas.
“Where’s your mother!” demanded Bob.
“In there.” Polly pointed to the back room, and without ceremony the four filed past and into the little living-room. Mrs. Deane was seated in a rocker, her spectacles pushed down on her nose, a paper across her knees, and her eyes fixed in smiling inquiry on the doorway.
Bob led the way. On the outspread paper he laid a brown envelop. “Wish you a Merry Christmas, ma’am,” he said.
Laurie followed, deposited his envelop beside Bob’s, repeated the greeting, and drew aside to make way for Nod and George. The Widow looked inquiringly from the stout envelops to the boys, smiling tolerantly the while. Boys were always up to pranks, and she liked them, boys and pranks both!
“What are these?” she asked, finally, when the fourth envelop lay in her lap.
Polly, looking over her shoulder, gasped as she read the writing on one of the packets, and her eyes, as round as round, looked across at Laurie.
“Nod! They aren’t—You haven’t—”