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 you twist its neck. It cost fifteen dollars. Did Santa bring Jodie a magic lantern? Mrs. Green. Did Santa bring Jodie a magic lantern?"

Carrie Pyne was the one really satisfactory person to show off to, so admiring and impressed.

"Look, Carrie, this umbrella, with a duck's head for a handle—the bill is real amber, if you please! It's made in England. Joe says English umbrellas are the best. Did I show you this fan? He gave me this, too—did you ever? Look at the way the spangles shine when I wave it; it's even prettier at night. And look, my dear! Seed-pearl earrings! Really I had to scold him."

"Kate Green, I never saw such beautiful things in all my life! You certainly are a lucky girl."

"And that isn't all, Carrie. Will you look at this silver toilet set? See, brush, comb—everything! Buttonhook! Everything you can think of."

And then she was filled with remorse—boasting to Carrie, who had so little, when she had everything. Her present to Carrie had been the silk workbag Nellie Verlaine had sent last Christmas; it was pretty, Dresden silk with blurred pink roses and gray leaves, but who on earth would want it? She hadn't. She had said in a musing voice: "See, Joe. From Nellie Verlaine. I think it's very pretty—really very pretty," and put it back in its tissue paper again, and there it stayed until she wrapped it in fresh tissue, with scarlet ribbon and a sprig of holly, not one of the sprigs with