On Christmas Day Sarah Bird appeared, cheerfully ready to take charge of her yearly patient; and Polly Ann went home. In less than a week, however, Polly Ann was peremptorily sent for by the sick woman. Polly Ann had expected the summons and was prepared; yet she shook in her shoes when she met her kinswoman's wrathful eyes. "Polly Ann, _what_ did you do with those presents?" demanded Margaret Brackett abruptly. "P-presents?" Polly Ann tried to steady her voice. "Yes, yes, the ones for Mary and John's family." "Why, I did them up and sent them off, to be sure. Did n't they get 'em?" "Get them!" groaned Margaret Brackett, "get them! Polly Ann, what did you do? You must have mixed them awfully somehow!" "Mixed them?" In spite of her preparation for this very accusation Polly Ann was fencing for time. "Yes, mixed them. Look at that--and that--and that," cried the irate woman, thrusting under Polly Ann's nose one after another of the notes of thanks she had received the day before. They were from John and his family, and one by one Polly Ann picked them up and read them. John, who had not for years, probably, worn anything coarser than silk on his feet, expressed in a few stiff words his thanks for two pairs of black woolen socks. Julia, famed for the dainty slenderness of her hands, expressed in even stiffer language her thanks for a pair of gray woolen gloves. She also begged to thank Cousin Margaret for the doll so kindly sent Roselle and for the red mittens sent to Paul. John's mother, always in the minds of those who knew her associated with perfumed silks and laces, wrote a chilly little note of thanks for a red flannel petticoat; while John's sister, Barbara, worth a million in her own right, scrawled on gold-monogrammed paper her thanks for the dozen handkerchiefs that had been so kindly sent her in the Christmas box. "And there were n't a dozen handkerchiefs, I tell you," groaned Margaret, "except the cotton ones I sent to Mary's two girls, Jennie and Carrie, six to each. Think of it--cotton handkerchiefs to Barbara Marsh! And that red flannel petticoat, and those ridiculous gloves and socks! Oh, Polly Ann, Polly Ann, how could you have done such a thing, and got everything so hopelessly mixed? There was n't a thing, not a single thing right but that doll for Roselle." Polly Ann lifted her head suddenly. "Have you heard from--Mary?" she asked in a faint voice. "Not yet. But I shall, of course. I suppose _they_ got John's things. Imagine it! Mary Hemenway and a Duchesse lace collar!" "Oh, but Mary would like that," interposed Polly Ann feverishly. "You know she's invited out a good deal in a quiet way, and a bit of nice lace does dress up a plain frock wonderfully."