w, Jennie."

There was a pause, broken at last by a mutinous "I don't think so,
mother."

"Why, _Jennie_!"

"Well, I don't. She may be kind, but she isn't--thoughtful."

"Why, my daughter!" remonstrated the shocked mother again. "I 'm
ashamed of you!"

"I know; it's awful, of course, but I can't help it," declared the
girl. "If she really were thoughtful, she 'd think sometimes that we
'd like something for presents besides flannel things."

"But they're so--sensible, Jennie, for--us."

"That's just what they are--sensible," retorted the girl bitterly.
"But who wants sensible things always? We _have_ to have them the
whole year through. Seems as if at Christmas we might have
something--foolish."

"Jennie, Jennie, what are you saying? and when Cousin Margaret is so
good to us, too! Besides, she does send us candy always, and--and
that's foolish."

"It would be if 't was nice candy, the kind we can't hope ever to buy
ourselves. But it isn't. It's the cheap Christmas candy, two pounds
for a quarter, the kind we have to buy when we buy any. Mother, it's
just that; don't you see? Cousin Margaret thinks that's the only sort
of thing that's fit for us! cheap, sensible things, the kind of things
we have to buy. But that does n't mean that we would n't like
something else, or that we have n't any taste, just because we have n't
the means to gratify it," finished the girl chokingly as she hurried
out of the room before her mother could reply.

All this, however, Polly Ann did not hear, for Polly Ann was not a fly
on Mary's sitting-room wall.

On Christmas Day Sarah Bird appeared, cheerfully ready to take charge
of her yearly patient; and Polly Ann went home. In less than a week,
however, Polly Ann was peremptorily sent for by the sick woman. Polly
Ann had expected the summons and was prepared; yet she shook in her
shoes when she met her kinswoman's wrathful eyes.

"Polly Ann, _what_ did you do with those presents?" demanded Margaret
Brackett abruptly.

"P-presents?" Polly Ann tried to steady her voice.

"Yes, yes, the ones for Mary and John's family."

"Why, I did them up and sent them off, to be sure. Did n't they get
'em?"

"Get them!" groaned Margaret Brackett, "get them! Polly Ann, what did
you do? You must have mixed them awfully somehow!"

"Mixed them?" In spite of her preparation for this very accusation
Polly Ann was fencing for time.

"Yes, mixed them. Look at that--and that--an