At the first book which she found and offered, Mother Margaret shook her head.
“No,” she said, “it’s got to be—to be larger than that. Thicker, I mean—it’s got to last longer. You see,” she explained, flushing still more, “I want it to last my little boy all day long, on Christmas. It’s about the only Christmas he’s going to have.”
“I see,” said the woman quietly.
“And then,” Mother Margaret said, “if you had something about modeling. About modeling in clay—”
“Does your little boy model in clay?” the librarian asked.
Mother Margaret flushed again. “He never has had any clay or any tools,” she said; “but he loves to read about it.”
They found two books, one on clay modeling, and one with many pictures, and a story of somebody’s wonderful Christmas that came when none was expected. Then the librarian considered for a moment, looking at a colored sheet of birds on the bulletin-board; she took down the poster, rolled and tied it and, from the bowl on her desk, fastened a sprig of holly in the cord.
“Flowers and birds and a piece of holly!” Mother Margaret cried, and thanked her joyfully.
She bought her red apple and a great orange, looked longingly at a window of chocolates, and ran home with her treasures.
As she was leaving the things in the sitting-room, on her own bed, she heard Anthony calling her.