a book."

"But some of them say he cannot read."

"It is high time, then, for him to learn. Thomas is a marvel of thrift,
and he won't be satisfied to have the book bring in no return. A school
book would be a judicious selection."

"I saw a book down town about horses and their diseases and treatment.
Cook says, 'Thomas dearly loves to fix up medicines for his horses.'"

"Very well. Now that matter is settled, have you any further inquiries to
make about Christmas presents?"

"Not any more, thank you."

"Then I will tell you a bit of news. I expect Mr. Bovyer here this
evening. It is a great favor for him to confer on us at this
season--coming to brighten our Christmas."

"I fancied we had the prospect of a very joyous Christmas without help
from abroad. To look at the pantry one might imagine we were going to
entertain half of Cavendish to-morrow."

"I noticed a wistful look on your face when you came in that the purchase
of a gun and watch could not wholly account for. Tell me, what is it?"

"Mr. Winthrop, can you really read my thoughts?" I exclaimed, in genuine
alarm.

"Suppose I try. You would like to have a spread for your Mill Road
pensioners; possibly at the Blakes or among some of them, and thereby
utilize our overplus of provisions. Have I read aright?" My face flushed
hotly, for this certainly had been in my mind for days; but I had not
courage to make the request.

"You do not answer my question," he said, after awhile, seeing me stand
silent.

"One cannot be punished for their thoughts, Mr. Winthrop."

"Then this was your thought?" he questioned.

"Surely you must be angry with me for wishing to do it. I did not mention
it to Mrs. Flaxman, or any one."

"Why, not, indeed. If cook is willing to share her good things with the
Mill Road people, and Mrs. Flaxman will accompany you to preserve the
proprieties, I do not see anything to hinder. I will provide all the
apples and confectionery your hungry crowd can consume for dessert."

I stood in amazement, scarce knowing how to express my gratitude. A
sudden desire seized me to put my arms around his neck and give him a
genuine filial caress.

"I wish you were my father, Mr. Winthrop," I exclaimed, impulsively.

"Why so?"

"I might be able then to thank you in some comfortable fashion."

"I understand what you mean, little one. I told you once that I was not
anxious to have you regard me in a filial way." Then turning the subject
abrup