poked it, stiff paper bent in and crackled; and she could feel
something big and solid underneath. She lay quiet and happy, trying to
guess what it could be, and fell asleep again.

It was the white lamb. It stood on a green stand. It smelt of dried hay
and gum and paint like the other toy animals, but its white coat had a
dull, woolly smell, and that was the real smell of the lamb. Its large,
slanting eyes stared off over its ears into the far corners of the
room, so that it never looked at you. This made her feel sometimes that
the lamb didn't love her, and sometimes that it was frightened and
wanted to be comforted.

She trembled when first she stroked it and held it to her face, and
sniffed its lamby smell.

Papa looked down at her. He was smiling; and when she looked up at him
she was not afraid. She had the same feeling that came sometimes when
she sat in Mamma's lap and Mamma talked about God and Jesus. Papa was
sacred and holy.

He had given her the lamb.

It was the end of her birthday; Mamma and Jenny were putting her to
bed. She felt weak and tired, and sad because it was all over.

"Come to that," said Jenny, "your birthday was over at five minutes
past twelve this morning."

"When will it come again?"