There were dolls and skates and sleds and sleighs, picture books and toy guns and swords, each one carefully selected by Edith over a period of weeks and each the gift of Theodore Roosevelt. As he handed down the presents into eager little hands he was no longer the governor-elect and a military hero, he was merely Neighbor Roosevelt giving a happy holiday to a group of small friends of his own children. Edith had chosen all the gifts and Theodore had paid for them with the last army paycheck he had received for serving in Cuba. And no child hugging his present beamed more brightly than did Theodore Roosevelt as he patted every small head and spoke a pleasant word to the recipient. His own children were not forgotten and Edith had wisely seen that the gifts were suitable even though there would be a bounteous Christmas for the five young Roosevelts later. If she had a few moments of trepidation as to how all this accumulation of holiday largess would be transported to Albany before the month was ended, she kept her anxiety to herself. Certainly Kermit could not be separated from the little mechanical ship he clutched so tightly in his arms. They drove back to Sagamore Hill in the bitter cold of the early winter dark. The light snow that had fallen, just enough to allow Theodore Roosevelt to experiment with an old pair of skis, was now frozen hard and glittered in the chilly light from the western sky. Out toward the horizon the Bay lay flat and gray and restless, reflecting now and then a glint of dying winter light. The children were quiet, huddling under the blankets, all but Ted who said wistfully, “I should have liked those skates you gave to Pete Murray, Father.” “You already have skates,” said his father. “Don’t be greedy.” “But those skates were better,” insisted Ted. “They have those sharpened edges and two straps.” “I still say you are being greedy, Ted. It’s an ugly trait. Get rid of it. Pete Murray is not as fortunate as you. He never gets many presents.” “Anyway,” Kermit chimed in, “maybe in Albany there won’t be any ice.” “I don’t want to go to Albany,” piped up little Archie. “I like here.” “So do we,” said Ted, “but Father has to be governor of New York because he beat the Spaniards in the war.” “Not alone, Ted,” corrected his father. “There were quite a few stout fellows helping me. Thousands of them, in fact, from generals and admirals down to plain soldiers and sailors.” “But the Rough Riders were the bravest,” his son persisted. “We’ll hope history will affirm that rash assertion.” His father was dry. “However, I thank you for your commendation. All right, here we are. Pile out, you fellows. Mother and the girls are just behind us in the other carriage. Everybody carry his own loot. Supper will be ready, we’ll hope, though I doubt if Archie can stay awake long enough to eat it.”