Across the Years | Page 5

a new game, but it's a very mysterious game, and you, Father
and Mother, must not know a thing about it until it's all ready." And
forthwith he conducted the little old man and the little old woman out
into the kitchen with great ceremony.
"Say, Samuel, seems as if this was 'most as good as the party,"
whispered Lydia Ann excitedly, as they waited in the dark. "I know it;
an' they hain't asked us once if we was gettin' too tired! Did ye notice,
Lyddy Ann?"
"Yes, an' they didn't make us take naps, either. Ain't it nice? Why,
Samuel, I--I shan't mind even the bed-slippers now," she laughed.
"Ready!" called Frank, and the dining-room door was thrown wide
open.
The old eyes blinked a little at the sudden light, then widened in
amazement. Before the fireplace was a low sewing-table with a chair at
each end. The table itself was covered with a white cloth which lay in
fascinating little ridges and hillocks indicating concealed treasures
beneath. About the table were grouped the four eager-eyed
grandchildren and their no less eager-eyed parents. With still another

ceremonious bow Frank escorted the little old man and the little old
woman to the waiting chairs, and with a merry "One, two, three!"
whisked off the cloth.
For one amazed instant there was absolute silence; then Lydia Ann
drew a long breath.
"Samuel, Samuel, they're presents--an' for us!" she quavered joyously.
"It's the bed-slippers and the neckerchiefs, an' they did 'em all up in
white paper an' red ribbons just for us."
At the corner of the mantelpiece a woman choked suddenly and felt for
her handkerchief. Behind her two men turned sharply and walked
toward the window; but the little old man and the little old woman did
not notice it. They had forgotten everything but the enchanting array of
mysteries before them.
Trembling old hands hovered over the many-sized, many-shaped
packages, and gently patted the perky red bows; but not until the
grandchildren impatiently demanded, "Why don't you look at 'em?" did
they venture to untie a single ribbon. Then the old eyes shone, indeed,
at sight of the wonderful things disclosed; a fine lace tie and a bottle of
perfume; a reading-glass and a basket of figs; some dates, raisins, nuts,
and candies, and a little electric pocket lantern which would, at the
pressure of a thumb, bring to light all the secrets of the darkest of
rooms. There were books, too, such as Ella and Frank themselves liked
to read; and there was a handsome little clock for the mantel--but there
was not anywhere a pair of bed-slippers or a neckerchief.
At last they were all opened, and there remained not one little red bow
to untie. On the table, in all their pristine glory, lay the presents, and
half-buried in bits of paper and red ribbon sat the amazed, but blissfully
happy, little old man and little old woman. Lydia Ann's lips parted, but
the trembling words of thanks froze on her tongue--her eyes had fallen
on a small pink peppermint on the floor.
"No, no, we can't take 'em," she cried agitatedly. "We hadn't ought to.
We was wicked and ongrateful, and last night we--we--" She paused
helplessly, her eyes on her husband's face. "Samuel, you--you tell," she
faltered.
Samuel cleared his throat.
"Well, ye see, we--yes, last night, we--we--" He could say no more.
"We--we had a party to--to make up for things," blurted out Lydia Ann.

"And so ye see we--we hadn't ought ter take these--all these!"
Frank winced. His face grew a little white as he threw a quick glance
into his sister's eyes; but his voice, when he spoke, was clear and strong
from sheer force of will.
"A party? Good! I'm glad of it. Did you enjoy it?" he asked.
Samuel's jaw dropped. Lydia Ann stared speechlessly. This cordial
approval of their folly was more incomprehensible than had been the
failure to relegate them to naps and knitting earlier in the afternoon.
"And you've got another party to-night, too; haven't you?" went on
Frank smoothly. "As for those things there"--he waved his hand toward
the table--"of course you'll take them. Why, we picked them out on
purpose for you,--every single one of them,--and only think how we'd
feel if you didn't take them! Don't you--like them?"
"'Like them'!" cried Lydia Ann, and at the stifled sob in her voice three
men and three women caught their breath sharply and tried to swallow
the lumps in their throats. "We--we just love them!"
No one spoke. The grandchildren stared silently, a little awed. Ella,
Frank, and Ned stirred restlessly and looked anywhere but at each
other.
Lydia Ann flushed, then paled. "Of course, if--if you picked 'em out
'specially for us--" she began hesitatingly,