ces Bobby gave a cry of
admiration.

"Look in the drawers," advised his father.

The little boy pulled open one after another the shallow drawers in the
stand to which the press was fastened. Some were filled with leads and
quoins and blocks. Some were regular type-cases, plenished with
glittering new fonts all distributed. One contained a small composing
stone, a cleaning brush, a composing stick, a pair of narrow-pointed
pliers, a mallet and planer. Everything was complete.

"Don't you think Auntie Kate was pretty good to a little boy I know?"
asked Mrs. Orde.

"Did Auntie Kate give me all this?" asked Bobby.

"She certainly did," replied his mother.

Now the family, bearing each his presents, moved into the sitting room
to give Mrs. Fox and Martin a chance to clean up the debris. Bobby
arranged his things on the sofa. Suddenly there came to him the uneasy
feeling of having reached the end. He had mounted above the first joy
and surprise and anticipation. It was all comprehended; nothing more was
to follow. Novelty had evaporated, like the volatile essence it is; and
Bobby had not as yet entered the fuller enjoyment of use. He could not
calm to the point of doing more than glance restlessly through the
books; he had not recovered sufficiently from his morning excitement to
settle down making his engine go, or to trying his press, or to playing
with any of his new toys. There descended upon him that peculiar and
temporary sense of emptiness, which, being revealed by youngsters and
misunderstood by elders, often brings down on its victim the unjust
accusation of ingratitude.

Luckily Bobby was not long left to his own devices. A wild whoop from
outside summoned him to the window; and what he saw therefrom caused him
to jump as quickly as he could into his out-door garments.

By the horse-block stood a very black and very chubby pony. It wore a
beautiful brass-mounted harness, atop its head perched a wonderful red
and white pompon, to it was hitched a low, one-seated sleigh on the
Russian pattern, with high grilled dash, and two impressive red and
white horse-hair plumes. In this rig-in-miniature sat Johnny English, a
broad grin on his face.

"Look what I got for Christmas!" he cried to Bobby. "Jump in and have a
ride!"

Bobby jumped in, and they drove away. The pony trotted very busily with
more appearance of speed than actual swiftness. The little sleigh, being
low to the ground, emphasized this illusion;