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Wild shrieks of "It's father! It's father!" rent the air. "It's father!" "Fardie! Fardie, don't come up!" "Father, don't come up!" "Father, it's your present!" There was hasty scurrying of feet, racing to and fro, and further shrieks. Langshaw waited, smiling. It was evidently a "boughten" gift, then; the last had been a water pitcher, much needed in the household.
There was a slight huskiness in his voice; the round face and guileless blue eyes of his little boy, who had tried "awful hard to be good," seemed to have acquired a new dignity. The father saw in him the grown-up son who could be depended upon to look after his mother if need were. Langshaw held out his hand as man to man; the two pairs of eyes met squarely.
Present from my wife and the kids been saving up for it. It's a peach, I'll tell you that! I'm going to take George off fishing this spring What? Well, come over later, when you've got time to take a good look at it." "Do you like it, father?" came from three different voices at once. "Do I like it? You can just bet I do," said Langshaw emphatically.
"You don't know what I'm going to give you for Christmas!" she cried joyously. Langshaw was one of those men who have an inherited capacity for enjoying Christmas.
"Nothing you could have done would have pleased me more than this, George. I value it more than any Christmas present I could have." "Mother said you'd like it," said the beaming George, ducking his head suddenly and kicking out his legs from behind. "And you'll pay the five dollars?" supplemented Clytie anxiously. "Surely!" said Langshaw.
Langshaw put his hand into his pocket. "No, I can't give you the dollar this minute, little girl; father has only a ten-dollar bill. I'll get it changed right after dinner. Isn't dinner 'most ready, Clytie?" "We'll go down just as soon as I get Baby in bed," said the mother peacefully. "I don't see why George isn't here. Goodness!
Mr. Langshaw had vaguely felt unusual preparations for a Christmas gift to him this year; he was always being asked for "change" to pay the children for services rendered.
George rose, clean and red-cheeked, looking more than ever like a large edition of Baby, in spite of his jacket and knickerbockers, as he stepped over to his father with a new dignity and handed him a folded sheet of paper. "What's this?" asked Langshaw genially opening it. He read aloud the words within, written laboriously in a round, boyish hand: To George Brander Langshaw, from father.
I'm sure I could buy the same thing for much less uptown; wouldn't you like me to see about it some day?" "Great Scott! Never think of such a thing!" he had replied in horror. "I could get much cheaper ones myself! If I ever have the money I'll do the buying you hear?" " Hello, Langshaw! Looking at that rod again? Why don't you blow yourself to a Christmas present? Haven't you got the nerve?"
"She shall get her little broom and Fardie will help her," said Langshaw, catching the child up in his arms and holding the round little form closely to him before putting her down carefully on her stubby feet.
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