I called Polly, and as she reached my side the old gentleman untied and examined the parcel.

When he came to the cinder, he looked up once more, and Polly jumped from the window with a prolonged "Oh!" "What's the matter ?" I asked.
"Oh, dear!" cried Polly; "it's the old gentleman next door!" For several days we lived in unenviable suspense.

Every morning did we expect to be summoned from the school-room to be scolded by Aunt Maria.

Every afternoon we dreaded the arrival of "the old gentleman next door" to make his formal complaint, and, whenever the front-door bell rang, Polly and I literally "shook in our shoes." But several days passed, and we heard nothing of it.

We had given up the practice in our fright, but had some thoughts of beginning again, as no harm had come to us.
One evening (by an odd coincidence, my birthday was on the morrow) as Polly and I were putting away our playthings preparatory to being dressed to go down to dessert, a large brown-paper parcel was brought into the nursery addressed jointly to me and my cousin.
"It's a birthday present for you, Regie!" Polly cried.
"But there's your name on it, Polly," said I.
"It must be a mistake," said Polly.