Arabella blushed prettily. “Yes, it would be more interesting for me,” she agreed. It was the Child that sighed this time. “If you’d rather, I’ll change it so you can talk more. And I’ll make your train shorter, too,” she said to Arabella. “Five yards is altogether too much.” She began to wonder if she could remember all the alterations that had to be made. There seemed to be so many things she hadn’t thought of. An odd sound coming from Arabella’s side of the bed arrested her attention. She appeared to be in some trouble.

The Storyist promised to do the best she could. They spent a good deal of time looking in the shops and at last made their purchase. Now it doesn’t matter, little Dear-My-Love, just what it was; only it was something that Lady-Mother needed and it was nice and the Child was satisfied with it. “But there’s only one Gift,” remarked the Storyist on their way home, “that is really everything that you say a Gift ought to be.”

Book Details