The Old Man flew and returned with—an empty bottle!
Dick would have sworn, but his strength was not equal to the occasion.
He staggered, caught at the handle of the door, and motioned to the Old Man.
“Thar’s suthin’ in my pack yer for Johnny. Take it off. I can’t.”
The Old Man unstrapped the pack and laid it before the exhausted man.
“Open it, quick!”
He did so with trembling fingers.
It contained only a few poor toys—cheap and barbaric enough, goodness knows, but bright with paint and tinsel.
One of them was broken; another, I fear, was irretrievably ruined by water; and on the other, ah me! there was a cruel spot.
“It don’t look like much, that’s a fact,” said Dick ruefully.... “But it’s the best we could do.... Take ’em, Old Man, and put ’em in his stocking, and tell him—tell him, you know—hold me, Old Man.”