He was not surprised,
therefore, when he saw his father come home rather later than usual
carrying a parcel of books under his arm. A few days afterwards he
announced casually at breakfast:
"Well, I only hope no one gives me 'The Great Chief,' or 'The Pirate
Ship,' or 'The Land of Danger' for Christmas."
His father started.
"Why?" he said sharply.
"Jus' 'cause I've read them, that's all," explained William with a
bland look of innocence.
The glance that Mr. Brown threw at his offspring was not altogether
devoid of suspicion, but he said nothing. He set off after breakfast
with the same parcel of books under his arm and returned with another.
This time, however, he did not put them in the library cupboard, and
William searched in vain.
The question of Christmas festivities loomed large upon the social
horizon.
"Robert and Ethel can have their party on the day before Christmas
Eve," decided Mrs. Brown, "and then William can have his on Christmas
Eve."
William surveyed his elder brother and sister gloomily.
"Yes, an' us eat up jus' what they've left," he said with bitterness.
"_I_ know!"
Mrs. Brown changed the subject hastily.
"Now let's see whom we'll have for your party, William," she said,
taking out pencil and paper. "You say whom you'd like and I'll make a
list."
"Ginger an' Douglas an' Henry and Joan," said William promptly.
"Yes? Who else?"
"I'd like the milkman.
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