"This is a turban for Aunt Phillis; and this is a pound of tobacco for
old Uncle Jack, and a nice pipe, too. Look, mammy! won't he be pleased?
And here's some flannel for poor old Aunt Dinah, who has the rheumatism;
and that--oh! no, no, mammy! don't you open that! It's a nice shawl for
her, papa," she whispered in his ear.
"Ah!" he said, smiling; "and which is my present? You had better
point it out, lest I should stumble upon it and learn the secret
too soon."
"There is none here for you, sir," she replied, looking up into
his face with an arch smile. "I would give you the bundle you
carried up-stairs, just now, but I'm afraid you would say that was
not mine to give, because it belongs to you already."
"Indeed it does, and I feel richer in that possession than all the
gold of California could make me," he said, pressing her to his
heart.
She looked surpassingly lovely at that moment, her cheeks burning,
and her eyes sparkling with excitement; the dark, fur-trimmed
pelisse, and the velvet hat and plumes, setting off to advantage
the whiteness of her pure complexion and the glossy ringlets
falling in rich masses on her shoulders.
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