Usually they took no special note of Father Manser’s return, as there were scarcely ever any letters, and they well knew the paper must be Mrs. Manser’s spoil for the evening.
“It’s a box,” said Father Manser, turning the package over and over in his hand.
“We can all see that,” said Mrs. Ramsdell, sharply.
“And it seems to be directed to Miss Anne Peebles,” proceeded Father Manser, taking no offence.
Aunty Peebles began to tremble with excitement as the box was handed to her, and a flush rose in the other old faces as the group closed in around the table, so that the lamp might shed its light on this surprising package.
“If you could wait till I’ve taken the paper in to Mrs. Manser, I’ve got a sharp knife that would cut those fastenings,” said Father Manser, wistfully. “Her door’s closed, and I won’t be but a minute. I won’t speak of the package, and I’ll mention that the fire needs more wood, for I see it does.”
“I’ll wait,” said Aunty Peebles, and spurred by a “Hurry up, then, for goodness’ sake!” from Mrs. Ramsdell, Father Manser sped off with the paper.
“It’s Polly’s writing,” said Uncle Blodgett, after a long squint at the address on the brown paper covering of the box. “I’ve got one of her exercises that the teacher said she might keep—one of that last batch, if I haven’t lost it.”
Uncle Blodgett drew from his coat pocket a long, flat wallet, and took out of it a piece of paper carefully creased and bearing evidences of frequent handling. He spread it out close to the box, so that all might see.
“You mark that cross on the T,” he said, triumphantly. “She begins it with a kind of a hook, different from most that you’d see. I—I noticed it the day she made me a gift of the paper,” said Uncle Blodgett, as he replaced his treasure in the wallet.