“He’s had time enough to tell Mother; but I don’t believe he has.”
“Well, if he has told, Mother has coddled him; but he looked just the same.”
“Maybe we are making too much fuss over nothing,” said Nancy. Sarah went into the kitchen, stepping heavily and quickly, and Nancy entered her mother’s room. The old woman was awake, and she smiled serenely at her daughter.
“He hasn’t told,” thought Nancy with relief. When she joined her sister in the kitchen she said, “Sarah, he hasn’t told Mother. He’s a good boy.”
“He will tell,” returned Sarah grimly, “and he can, for all me.”
But Tommy did not tell, although as time went on he was subjected to a severe ordeal. It began that very morning out in the yard under the cherry trees. The light fall of snow was not enough to admit of sleighing, but enough to make as good an excuse for using a Christmas sled as a child could wish. Out there, on the thin glistening rime of snow was Cora Roseberry, dragging a superfine sled, gaudily painted and named “Snow Bird.” Cora wore a set of furs, although the muff was dreadfully in her way. It was a Christmas present. She also wore a bright red cloak lined with plaid, another Christmas present, and on one hand a kid glove. The other hand was bare, because it was decorated with a gold ring with a garnet stone.
When she saw Tommy she hailed him. “Come here, quick, quick!” she called in her thin sweet voice.
“Oh, Tommy Dunbar, you are so slow!” she cried as he came up. “I want you to just look at my Christmas presents! See my sled, see my furs, see my red cape, see my kid gloves, real kid, the first I’ve had. And oh, Tommy, see my ring! See how it shines!”
Tommy nodded soberly. He was not jealous, but he could not bring himself to show hilarity after his own experience.
“And these ain’t near all,” boasted Cora. “I’ve got two books, a red one and a blue one, with pictures, and a photograph album, and oranges, and candy, and a game, and lots of other things. Say, can’t you come in our house and see them?”