a voluminous yellow leather one from the doctor.

"Six souls with but a single thought;
Six hearts that beat as one;"

misquoted Mrs. Maria, and a chorus of laughter that almost rattled the
windows followed her. They were still holding their sides and bursting
out afresh every other minute, when little Sylvia Rutledge sailed into
the dining-room with a delicate basket in her hand.

"Merry Christmas!" said she, "but you seem to have it already."

The boys all rushed at once to explain.

"Wait a minute," said she, "till I have given Grandma her gifts," and
she produced successively from her basket four parcels.

Sylvia's held another velvet porte-monnaie; Annie's contained a second
of hand-painted kid, daisies on a black ground; and Amelia's was a
third pocket-book of gray canvas with Russia leather corners and
straps; while Mrs. Rutledge's tiny packet produced an old-fashioned
short purse, with steel fringe and clasp, which she had knit herself
for her mother.

How can words tell the laughter which hailed this repetition?

The boys rolled off their chairs and roared till their very sides
ached; tears streamed down Mrs. White's fair face; Grace gazed at the
presents with a look half rueful and half funny, while the doctor's
vigorous "haw! haw! haw!" could have been heard half a mile had it not