ith admiration; "now
this dear Boodie of ours would quite as soon have an ugly present as a
pretty one; she thinks only of the affection of the giver of it."

"I do not," says the Boodie, stoutly, "and I'd _hate_ an ugly present;"
then, with a sudden change of tone, "have you anything for me?"

"Darling," murmured Julia, with mild reproof.

"Certainly not," says Mr. Browne, promptly; "I want you to love me for
myself alone!"

"_Really_ nothing?" persists the Boodie, as if unable to credit her
senses.

"Really nothing."

"Then what did you go to London for last week?" demands the irate
Boodie, with rising and totally unsuppressed indignation.

This question fills Mr. Browne with much secret amusement.

"There have been rare occasions," he says, mildly, "on which I have gone
to town to do a few other things besides purchasing gifts for you."

"I never heard anything so mean," says the Boodie, alluding to his
unprofitable visit to the metropolis, "I wouldn't"--with the finest, the
most withering disgust--"have believed it of you! And let me tell you
this, Dicky Browne, I'll take very good care I don't give you the
present I have been keeping for you for a whole week; and by-and-bye,
when you hear what it is, you will be sorrier than ever you were in your
life."

This awful speech she delivers with the greatest gusto. Mr. Browne,
without a moment's hesitation, flings himself upon his knees before her
in an attitude suggestive of the direst despair.

"Oh, _don't_ do me out of my Christmas-box," he entreats, tearfully; "I
know what your gifts are like, and I would not miss one for any earthly
consideration. My lovely Boodie! reconsider your words. I _will_ give
you a present to-morrow" (already the biggest doll in Christendom is in
her nurse's possession, with strict injunctions to let her have it, with
his love and a kiss, the first thing in the morning); "I'll do
_anything_, if you will only bestow upon me the priceless treasure at
which you have darkly hinted."

"Well, we'll see," returns the Boodie, in a reserved tone; after which
Mr. Browne once more returns to his seat and his senses.

But, unfortunately, the Boodie has not yet quite finished all she has to
say. Rolling her little, lithe body over until she rests upon her back,
and letting her arms fall behind her sunny head in one of her graceful,
kittenish ways, she says, pathetically:

"Oh, how I wish Roger was here! He always was good to us, wasn't