“Here are your Christmas presents from me,” he said.
The atmosphere brightened. They unfastened their parcels with expression of anticipation and Christian forgiveness upon their faces. William watched them, his face “registering” only patient suffering.
“It’s very kind of you,” said Aunt Emma still struggling with the string.
“It’s not kind,” said William still treading doggedly the path of truth. “Mother said I’d got to bring you something.”
Mrs. Brown coughed suddenly and loudly but not in time to drown the fatal words of truth....
“But still—er—very kind,” said Aunt Emma though with less enthusiasm.
At last she brought out a small pincushion.
“Thank you very much, William,” she said. “You really oughtn’t to have spent your money on me like this.”
“I din’t,” said William stonily. “I hadn’t any money, but I’m very glad you like it. It was left over from Mother’s stall at the Sale of Work, an’ Mother said it was no use keepin’ it for nex’ year because it had got so faded.”
Again Mrs. Brown coughed loudly but too late. Aunt Emma said coldly: