on mamma. Mamma very prudently
did not turn her head, and appeared to be lost in reflection, though she
must have been quite deaf not to have heard the loud whispers--"It's
mamma's bag! only think! Don't you think, Tom, Ally pulled out mamma's
bag, and held it right up before her! Don't you think she'll find out?"

Master Tom valued himself greatly on the original and profound ways he
had of adapting his presents to the tastes of the receiver without
exciting suspicion: for example, he would come up into his mother's
room, all booted and coated for a ride to town, jingling his purse
gleefully, and begin,--

"Mother, mother, which do you like best, pink or blue?"

"That might depend on circumstances, my son."

"Well, but, mother, for a neck ribbon, for example; suppose somebody was
going to buy you a neck ribbon."

"Why, blue would be the most suitable for me, I think."

"Well, but mother, which should you think was the best, a neck ribbon or
a book?"

"What book? It would depend something on that."

"Why, as good a book as a fellow could get for thirty-seven cents," says
Tom.

"Well, on the whole, I think I should prefer the ribbon."

"There, Ned," says Tom, coming down the stairs, "I've found out just
what mother wants, without telling her a word about it."

But the crowning mystery of all the great family arcana, the thing that
was going to astonish papa and mamma past all recovery, was certain
projected book marks, that little Ally was going to be made to work for
them. This bold scheme was projected by Miss Emma, and she had armed
herself with a whole paper of sugar plums, to be used as adjuvants to
moral influence, in case the discouragements of the undertaking should
prove too much for Ally's patience.

As to Ally, she felt all the dignity of the enterprise--her whole little
soul was absorbed in it. Seated on Emma's knee, with the needle between
her little fat fingers, and holding the board very tight, as if she was
afraid it would run away from her, she very gravely and carefully stuck
the needle in every place but the right--pricked her pretty fingers--ate
sugar plums--stopping now to pat Rover, and now to stroke pussy--letting
fall her thimble, and bustling down to pick it up--occasionally taking
an episodical race round the room with Rover, during which time Sister
Emma added a stitch or two to the work.

I would not wish to have been required, on oath, to give in my
undisguised opinion as to