"Why, it's from Brother Obie—to you!" exclaimed his mother, while his father drew near and said, "Well, well!"
"And look inside! I haven't half looked yet," said Obie, "but you look, Ma! I just want you to look!"
Ma opened the box, and then the purse, and then the fourteen round objects wrapped in white paper. And they made a fine glitter on the red tablecloth.
"Well, well!" repeated Mr. Waddle.
"And here's something written," said Mrs. Waddle, taking a paper from a pocket at the back of the purse.
"Read it, Ma—out loud! I don't care," said Obie generously.
So Ma read it in a voice that trembled a little:
My Dear Nephew:—If I count rightly, it is thirteen years since your good mother labelled you Obadiah. I'm not near enough to give you thirteen slaps—I wish I were—so I send you thirteen dollars, and one to grow on. Never mind returning the dollar with the hole in it—keep it for your grandchildren to cut their teeth on. Give my love to your parents and little sister; and if you look the purse through closely, I think you will find something of interest to your mother. It is about time she paid our old Vermont a visit. Be a good boy.
Your affectionate uncle,
Obadiah Brown.