“Well, look here—I’ll wait and see, then. But I’ll tell you one thing—if things don’t begin to get different pretty soon, I’m off!”
“All right,” said Jane, getting up. Paul stood up, too. Then suddenly he held out his hand.
“Listen, Janey—please don’t mind me when I get rough and short. You’ve got more sense than I have, and I need someone to talk to like the dickens.”
“I’ve got more sense than you have, Paul!” repeated Jane, sincerely amazed. “How can you say that? Why, you’re the most—the most clever person I ever knew in my life!”
Nothing cements friendship like mutual admiration; but Jane felt something warmer and better than mere admiration, as she put her hand into Paul’s big paw; she felt that rare, happy pleasure that is stirred in a responsive young soul when it is first called upon to give sympathy and help; and their firm handclasp sealed a friendship that was to last to the end of their lives.
[CHAPTER VII—GIRLS]
Half a dozen feminine tongues babbled cheerfully. For once the Deacon’s chilly parlor, with its slippery, horse-hair furniture, its stiff-featured portraits, and its big, black square piano, had lost a little of its funereal aspect, and a great deal of its oppressive neatness. Over the chairs, over the Brussels carpet, over the bow-legged table were scattered pieces of bright sateen, blue, red, orange and black, scraps of lace and gold tinsel, spangles and feathers. A coal fire glowed amiably in the grate, adding a deeper color to six blooming faces, and flashing on the bright needles that were so industriously plied. Outside, the first heavy snow of the winter was falling, in big, lazy flakes, which had already covered streets and roofs, and weighted the twigs and branches of the trees.
“Well, I’ve got every one of my Christmas presents ready,” remarked one young lady with a comfortable sigh of relief. “I start making them in June, but somehow I never get done until the last minute.”
“I just never try to make mine,” said another, “I take a day, and buy all of them in the city, when I go to visit Cousin Mary. It saves time and trouble, and I think it’s really more economical.”
“Oh, but then they don’t have the personal touch,” said a third, a tall, thin anæmic-looking girl, with large, soulful eyes, and a tiny mouth. “And that is what counts. It’s what makes Christmas presents mean something. I always say that I never think of the gift, but of the thought of the giver.”