It was the Ware family at supper.

And afterward, when the dishes had been cleared away, there was another picture to shine out into the wet night: the children unpacking the box that Jack had dragged out of its hiding-place.
Mary paraded jubilantly around the room in her new slippers, the rosebud sash tied around her gingham apron, the pink parasol held high above her head, and her face such a picture of delight that one could not look at her without smiling, too.
[ILLUSTRATION: "SHE SORTED THE RIBBONS AND EXAMINED THE GLOVES."] Even the baby sat up an hour after his bedtime, to take part in the unusual excitement.

The prospect of Joyce's seeing the old valley seemed to have unlocked a door into the little mother's memory.

Story after story she brought out to entertain them, of the things that had happened when she was a care-free little schoolgirl, before sorrow and worry and work had come to make her tired and sad.
While she entertained them Joyce brought a bureau drawer from her bedroom, and, propping it on two chairs, began looking over its contents.

She sorted the ribbons and examined the gloves, counted the handkerchiefs and inspected the stockings, dividing everything into three piles.