e to much
coasting. Another knife filled his heart with joy! for naturally the
birthday knife was broken-bladed by now. A large square package proved
to contain a model steam engine with a brass boiler and what looked like
a lead cylinder; its furnace was a small alcohol lamp. Seven or eight
books of varying interest, another pair of knit socks from Auntie Kate,
a half-dozen big glass marbles, a box of tin soldiers completed the
miscellaneous list. A fat, round, soft package, when opened, disclosed a
set of boxing-gloves.

"Now you and Johnny can have it out," observed Mr. Orde.

Another square package held two volumes from Mr. Kincaid. They were
thick volumes with pleasant smelling red leather covers on which were
stamped in gold the name and the figure of a man in very old-fashioned
garments aiming a very old-fashioned fowling-piece at something outside
of and higher than the book. "Frank Forrester's Sporting Scenes and
Characters: The Warwick Woodlands" spelled Bobby. He lingered a moment
or so over the fat red volumes.

Each of the servants contributed to Bobby's array; for they liked Bobby
and his frank manly ways. Martin gave a red silk handkerchief whose
borders showed a row of horses' heads looking out of mammoth horseshoes.
Amanda presented him with a pink china cup-and-saucer on which were
scattered bright green flowers. Mrs. Fox's offering was,
characteristically, a net-work bag for carrying school books.

The Christmas tree was stripped of everything but its decorations. Even
some of the candles had burned dangerously low and had been
extinguished. The servants had slipped away.

"Here, youngster," admonished Mr. Orde, "aren't you going to get all
your presents? You haven't looked behind the tree yet."

And then at last Bobby permitted himself to see that of which he had
been aware all the time; but which, by an effort of the will he had made
temporarily as unreal to himself as St Paul's in London. Behind the
tree, furnished, repainted, wonderful, to be reverenced, stood high and
haughty the self-inking, double roller, 5 x 7 printing press!

"What do you say to that?" cried Mr. Orde.

But Bobby had nothing to say to that. He was too overwhelmed. He
approached and pulled down the long lever. Immediately, as the platen
closed, the two rollers rose smoothly across the form and over the round
ink-plate, which at the same time made a quarter-revolution. At the nice
adjustment and correlation of these for