“W-what do you need?” asked the little boy, eagerly, entirely forgetting about his breakfast.
Mrs. Darling shrugged her shoulders. “It’s something I have use for every day, and nobody could be expected to think of it.”
The little boy hitched his shoulders impatiently. “It’s fun telling what you want, anyhow,” he said.
“Well, then, I never can remember the things I have to do without putting them down on a pad, and I never have a pad handy. If only some one would string some sheets of paper together for me to scribble things on. But what’s the use of talking! Whoever would think of such a thing!”
The little boy smothered a laugh the best way he could, and tried to look very solemn while Mrs. Darling lifted the tray off his knees.
“The packages have all got to be tied up, and, although I haven’t a bit of red ribbon, pink and blue will do every bit as well,” she said.
“Yes,” agreed the little boy, “only—only don’t come back for—about half an hour, will you? I want to write—to—well, some letters, you know.”
Mrs. Darling nodded, and closed the door softly.
******
Of course, when you have only half an hour to make a whole Christmas present, it behooves you to hurry. The little boy reached over for his dressing-gown and slipped his arms into it, then drew on his slippers. He remembered his arithmetic pad—or, rather, there had been an arithmetic pad before he was taken ill—and it ought to be in his desk drawer, behind the French Grammar. He opened the drawer and pushed aside the French Grammar with a shout, for there lay the pad! He lifted it out, and, as he did so, something slipped from its pages. It was a letter. He knew the writing, even if he had not recognized the foreign stamp. He stood very still, staring at it where it had fallen, a white blur, on the floor. Then he winked his eyes hard and picked it up.