Manchurian Books

But the afternoon was terrable. We keep open house on Xmas
afternoon, and father makes a champagne punch, and somebody
pours tea, although nobody drinks it, and there are little cakes
from the Club, and the house is decorated with poin--(Memo: Not
in the Dictionery and I cannot spell it, although not usualy
troubled as to spelling.)
At eleven o'clock the mail came in, and mother sorted it
over, while father took a gold piece out to the post-man.
There were about a million cards, and mother glanced at the
addresses and passed them round. But suddenly she frowned. There
was a small parcel, addressed to me.
"This looks like a Gift, Barbara," she said. And proceded
to open it.
My heart skipped two beats, and then hamered. Mother's
mouth was set as she tore off the paper and opened the box.
There was a card, which she glanced at, and underneath, was a
book of poems.
"Love Lyrics," said mother, in a terrable voice. "To
Barbara, from H----"
"Mother----" I began, in an ernest tone.
"A child of mine recieving such a book from a man!" she
went on. "Barbara, I am speachless.


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