"You can have it," said Susie; "I'm goin' to have the red wagon."
"Oh, papa, look at the pretty red wagon!", said Rachie, dropping
another of the kaleidoscopes with commendable promptness.
"Me!--yed yaggon!" cried Ellie.
"Children, children!" said the preacher, secretly amused and
entertained. "Don't you know the presents all belong to little Carson?"
"Well, we didn't get anything but mittens and caps," said Rachie, in
the baldest of candor.
"Go ahead and enjoy the things," instructed Jim. "Skeezucks, do you
want the little girls to play with all the things?"
The little fellow nodded. He was happier far than ever he had been in
all his life.
"But they ought to play with one thing at a time, and not drop one
after another," said the mild Mrs. Stowe, blushing girlishly.
"I like to see them practise at changin' their minds," drawled the
miner, philosophically. "I'd be afraid of a little gal that didn't
begin to show the symptoms."
But all three of the bright-eyed embryos of motherhood had united on a
plan. They sat the grave little Carson in the red-painted wagon, with
his doll held tightly to his heart, and began to haul him about.
Tintoretto, who had dragged off an alphabetical block, was engrossed in
the task of eating off and absorbing the paint and elements of
education, with a gusto that savored of something that might and might
not have been ambition.
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