Old Mr. Delamere was unable to decide as yet whether he
favored most his father or his mother. The object of these attentions
endured them patiently for several minutes, and then protested with a
vocal vigor which led to his being taken promptly back upstairs.
Whatever fate might be in store for him, he manifested no sign of weak
lungs.
"Sandy," said Mrs. Carteret when the baby had retired, "pass that tray
standing upon the side table, so that we may all see the presents."
Mr. Delamere had brought a silver spoon, and Tom a napkin ring. Ellis
had sent a silver watch; it was a little premature, he admitted, but
the boy would grow to it, and could use it to play with in the mean
time. It had a glass back, so that he might see the wheels go round.
Mrs. Ochiltree's present was an old and yellow ivory rattle, with a
handle which the child could bite while teething, and a knob screwed on
at the end to prevent the handle from slipping through the baby's hand.
"I saw that in your cedar chest, Aunt Polly," said Clara, "when I was a
little girl, and you used to pull the chest out from under your bed to
get me a dime."
"You kept the rattle in the right-hand corner of the chest," said Tom,
"in the box with the red silk purse, from which you took the gold piece
you gave me every Christmas."
A smile shone on Mrs. Ochiltree's severe features at this appreciation,
like a ray of sunlight on a snowbank.
"Aunt Polly's chest is like the widow's cruse," said Mrs.
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