"Have you finished, Waveney?" asked Doreen, a little abruptly. "By-and-bye, if you have, we may as well go to the library, or we shall never get our parcels undone before it is time to start for church." Waveney opened her eyes rather widely at this; but when she entered the room, she stared in amazement. The centre-table seemed a mass of plants, and brown paper parcels of every size and description were heaped on every available space. To her surprise Althea quietly drew back the curtain of Cosy Nook, and motioned her to enter. "You can amuse yourself there for a little while," she said, brightly, "while Doreen and I open our parcels. You will see Aunt Sara has not forgotten you." And then, with a kindly nod, she withdrew. It was a pity that no interested observer saw the girl's start and blush of delight, for there, just opposite her, was a dress, flung across a chair, and a paper pinned on one sleeve. "Waveney, from her loving friend, Althea Harford." Althea had pleased her own taste in the choice of that frock. It was a dark sapphire blue velveteen of the same shade as the cloak, and was perfectly plain, except for a dainty little ruff of yellowish lace; and nothing could have suited Waveney's pale, little face better. She stood for a long time with folded hands, in mute admiration of that marvellous garment; she knew now why her white dress had disappeared so mysteriously for a day or two. It wanted doing up, Nurse Marks told her. But when it had been returned, Waveney could see very little difference. The poor, little frock looked sadly frayed and shabby; no wonder Miss Althea thought she needed a new one. But the kindness and the generosity of the gift were beyond everything, and there was a lump in Waveney's throat as her fingers touched the soft pile of the velveteen. Doreen's present was a box of handkerchiefs, with Waveney's initials prettily embroidered by one of the workers at the Home, and Mrs. Mainwaring, with characteristic kindness and good taste, had contributed a beautiful little muff. But Waveney's pleasure reached its climax when her eyes discovered a neat, little umbrella, with a note from Mollie attached to the ivory handle. "Please do not think me extravagant, darling," it began, "because I really can afford to give myself a big treat this year. The _menu_-cards have sold splendidly. Mr. Ingram says his sister has given him a commission for three more sets, so I shall be quite rich. I have bought myself a new jacket and hat, and father says that he certainly means to get me a tweed dress for Christmas, so I shall be as smart as you. He is only sending you gloves, but I know you will like them.