The interest that had held the circle of elders silent and motionless, like a mechanical setting for the tree, broke in a laugh. Mr. Orde arose. "Well, let's see what we have," said he. He advanced and picked up a package. "'For Grandma Orde from her loving daughter,'" he read the inscription. "Here you are, grandma. First blood!" Rapidly the distribution went forward. Cries of delight, of surprise and of thanks, the rustle of many wrapping papers filled the air. Around each member of the family these papers, tossed carelessly aside in the impatience of the moment, accumulated knee-deep. The servants, very clean and proper in their Sunday best, stood in a constrained group near the door, holding their gifts, still wrapped, awkwardly in their hands. Bobby for a few moments was kept very busy acting as messenger. By custom his was the hand to deliver to the servants their packages. Then grown-up excitement lulled, and he had time to gloat over his own formidable pile. The sled he at once turned over. Glory! Its runners were of the round-spring variety--the very best. They were dull blue and unpolished as yet, of course; but that fact was merely an incentive to much coasting. Another knife filled his heart with joy! for naturally the birthday knife was broken-bladed by now. A large square package proved to contain a model steam engine with a brass boiler and what looked like a lead cylinder; its furnace was a small alcohol lamp. Seven or eight books of varying interest, another pair of knit socks from Auntie Kate, a half-dozen big glass marbles, a box of tin soldiers completed the miscellaneous list. A fat, round, soft package, when opened, disclosed a set of boxing-gloves. "Now you and Johnny can have it out," observed Mr. Orde. Another square package held two volumes from Mr. Kincaid. They were thick volumes with pleasant smelling red leather covers on which were stamped in gold the name and the figure of a man in very old-fashioned garments aiming a very old-fashioned fowling-piece at something outside of and higher than the book. "Frank Forrester's Sporting Scenes and Characters: The Warwick Woodlands" spelled Bobby. He lingered a moment or so over the fat red volumes. Each of the servants contributed to Bobby's array; for they liked Bobby and his frank manly ways. Martin gave a red silk handkerchief whose borders showed a row of horses' heads looking out of mammoth horseshoes. Amanda presented him with a pink china cup-and-saucer on which were scattered bright green flowers. Mrs. Fox's offering was, characteristically, a net-work bag for carrying school books. The Christmas tree was stripped of everything but its decorations. Even some of the candles had burned dangerously low and had been extinguished. The servants had slipped away. "Here, youngster," admonished Mr. Orde, "aren't you going to get all your presents? You haven't looked behind the tree yet."