David, whose only fault was too great an attachment to the cup that cheered him too frequently, and who had been devoted to Bobbert, coughed deprecatingly and explained: “Only dropped in for the tree, Mr. Bob, your papa havin’ asked me in with the rest. And a fine tree it is, I’m sure. I expect most o’ them presents will be for you, Mr. Bob?” David prefixed the title of respect in public, but his private relations with Bobbert had been anything but formal. Aunt Kate, dancing with impatience, had begun to detach the presents from the lower boughs, and soon they were piling up around him. “Master Robertson Wheeler. Master Robertson Wheeler—oh, Bobbert, that’s a whopping fine present. Miss Dorothea Wheeler. _Siehst du, mein süsses Kind?_ Master Robertson Wheeler. See what Uncle Ritch. sent you, Bob! He forgot how you had grown!” They were laughing, explaining, thanking, eating, all at once. “And the candy, mother’ll keep till to-morrow. Now, Bob, see! Under the tree!” The engine rattled proudly forth. The uncles and aunts fell upon it. “There! I told you it wasn’t oiled enough! See, where the smoke-stack joins on! Will she take the curve by the rug? See, Bobbert, how the switches work! Real switches! Father! Here, this way, Father Robertson! Mr. Ferris is going to work the switch. Isn’t it wonderful, Bobbert? It’s from Grandpa Wheeler. Thank him. It goes through the hall. Oh, Kate, you can’t work that switch, can you? See Aunt Kate work the switch, dear.” Bobbert watched it curiously. He ran forward to the third switch. “Want to see how it goes, Bob? Here, I’ll work it for you. It’s a little catchy at first. Yes indeed, Mr. Robertson, we had more fun than a little getting this ready, I assure you. Quite complete, isn’t it?” Uncle Christopher began to juggle with the Japanese outfit, to the intense delight of the servants. The aunties and Mr. Ferris played with the engine explaining its mechanism to the wondering grandfathers. Grandma Wheeler marvelled at the French dissecting puzzle. Bobbert’s mother happily guarding the candy, laughed at the baby, who, harnessed into the dog collar, pranced along before her father, waving the colored balls in the air, a woolly lamb under her free arm. The merry moments passed. Suddenly Grandfather Wheeler looked up from the bird-book, which he was sharing with Uncle Frank. “But where is Robertson, Jr.?” he inquired mildly. They stared. “Why, right here,” they said. But he was not right there. Uncle Frank looked about comprehensively at the relatives and smiled a superior smile. Then his eye fell on the bird-book in his lap, and the smile changed its quality. He glanced at the ring of servants. “And where is David?” he added. Suddenly he sprang to his feet. “Come on!” he said. “We’ll find him. Don’t make a noise—walk softly, now.”