It's--it's too, too bad!" Mrs.Prescott, though seldom given to tears, now sank to the sofa, pulled out her handkerchief and gave brief vent to her own great disappointment.
"Never mind, mother; it may turn up all right yet," urged Dick soothingly, as he rested one arm around her waist.

"But if Mr.Fits really did break in here and take your present, then I feel as though I'd enjoy trailing him to the end of the earth and seeing him shoved away behind strong bars!" "It seems almost fantastic," declared Mr.Prescott, "but I'm afraid, Dick, that the scoundrel you've told us about really did break in here on purpose to spoil your Christmas.

If he didn't come in person he must have sent someone." "Oh, well, anyway," protested Dick, trying to stifle his disappointment, both on his mother's account and his own, "probably we'll all live to see more Christmases.

But, mother, I'm awfully sorry about the loss of your gift.

Dad thought, too, that I had made a fine choice." "Indeed you did, young man," remarked Mr.Prescott.