"Well, mother, you _know_ there isn't--most generally," defended Robert. "And if they _are_ new, they're the sort of things we couldn't ever use," added Ned. "Boys, boys, that will do," commanded the minister, quickly. The minister, with Paul's help, had the barrel nearly open by this time. "It isn't from Sunbridge, is it?" asked Genevieve. "No--though we get them from there sometimes; but this is from a little town in Vermont," replied Mrs. Jones. "We had a letter last week from the minister. He--he apologized a little; said that times had been hard, and that they'd had trouble to fill it. As if it wasn't hard enough for us to take it, without that!" she finished bitterly, with almost a sob. "Rita, my dear!" murmured her husband, in a low, distressed voice. Mrs. Jones dashed quick tears from her eyes. "I know; I don't mean to be ungrateful. But--times have been a little hard--with _us_!" Silent, and a little awed, the Happy Hexagons stood at one side. Genevieve, especially, looked out from troubled eyes. Very slowly Genevieve was waking up to the fact that not every one in the world had luxuries, or even what she would call ordinary comforts of living. Mrs. Jones, seeing her face, spoke hurriedly. "There, there, girls, please forget what I said! It was very kind of those good people to send the barrel--very kind; and I am sure we shall find in it just what we want." "I know what you hope will be there," cried Bob, "a new coat for Father, and a dress for you, and some underclothes for us boys. I heard you say so last night." "Yes; and Quentina wants a ribbon--not dirty ones," observed Rob. "Robert!" cried Quentina, very red of face. "You know I don't _expect_ anything of the sort." The barrel was open now, and eagerly the family gathered around it. Even Mrs. Jones's chair was drawn forward so that she, too, might peep into it. First there was a great quantity of newspapers--the people had, indeed, found trouble to fill it, evidently. Next came a pincushion--faded pink satin, frilled with not over-clean white lace. "I can use the lace for a collar," cried Quentina, taking prompt possession of the cushion. "I'm right glad of this!" A picture came next in a tarnished gilt frame--evidently somebody's early attempts to paint nasturtiums in oil. "There's a rival for your posies out in the yard," murmured Tilly in Quentina's ear. A pair of skates was pulled out next, then three dolls, one minus an arm. "These might be good--on ice," remarked Paul, who had picked up the skates. "Do you ever have any ice to skate on, here?" asked Bertha. "Not in the part of Texas I've ever been in," he sighed. Mrs. Jones was ruefully smoothing the one-armed doll's flimsy dress. "I--I _told_ them there were no little girls in the family," she said, her worried eyes seeking her husband's face. "It--it's all right, of course; only--only these dolls did take space."