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 in the other; but she was anxious to oblige such a magnificent customer and quite ready to sell her anything that she wanted. She was about to empty out the buttons when Laura stopped her. "You must keep some for your customers, Mrs. Trumpet. They may want to put them in their Christmas puddings," Laura was losing her head a little with excitement. "But I should like to send about three dozen of each sort, if you can spare them. Buttons are always useful."

"Yes, miss. Shall I put in some linen thread too?"

Mrs. Trumpet was a stout, obliging woman. She promised to do up all the parcels in thick brown paper and send them off three days before Christmas. As Laura stepped out of the shop in triumph, she exclaimed: "Well, that's done it!"

For the life of her she could not have said in what sense the words were intended. She was divided between admiration for her useful and well-chosen gifts and delight in affronting a kind of good taste which she believed to be merely self-esteem.

Although she had chosen presents with such care for her relations, Laura was surprised when