I don't deserve for it to be mine.

It ought to be Mary's.

She never frets over things." Mrs.Ware looked down into Mary's face, still a-smile with the thought of her sister's pleasure, and said: "Mary is to have a little slice of this, too.

I wonder what she will say when she sees a certain pink parasol that I saw in that box, and a white sash with pink rosebuds on it, and slippers that I'm sure wouldn't fit anything else in the house but her own wigglesome little feet." Mary's hands came together ecstatically, with a long-drawn "Oh!" Then she clasped her mother around the knees, demanding, breathlessly: "Anything for Holland in that box ?" "Yes." "Anything for Jack ?" "Yes." "Anything for the baby ?" Mrs.Ware nodded.
"And you ?" Another nod.
"Then there isn't a single word in the dictionary good enough to fit!" screamed Mary, excitedly, spinning around and around in the kitchen floor until the red ribbons stood out at right angles from her head.
"There isn't a single word, Holland; we'll just have to _squeal_!" At that she gave a long, ear-piercing shriek that seemed to go through the roof like a fine-pointed needle.

Holland and the baby joined in, each trying to make a louder noise than the other.