That afternoon, in the big Liverpool hotel, the trunks were packed for the last time.

“Seems something like the night befo’ Christmas,” said the Little Colonel, as she counted the packages piled on the floor beside her trunk.  They were the presents that she had chosen for the friends at home.

“Nineteen, twenty,” she went on counting, “and that music box for Mom Beck makes twenty-one, and the souvenir spoons for the Walton girls make twenty-five.  Oh, I didn’t show you these,” she said.

“This is Allison’s,” she explained, opening a little box.  “See the caldron and the bells on the handle?  I got this in Denmark.  That’s from Andersen’s tale of the swineherd’s magic kettle, you know.  Kitty’s is from Tam O’Shanter’s town.  That’s why there is a witch and a broomstick engraved on it.  This spoon for Elise came from Berne.  I think that’s a darling little bear’s head on the handle.  What did you get, Betty?” she continued, turning to her suddenly.  “You haven’t shown me a single thing.”

Betty laid down the spoons she was admiring.  “You’ll not think they are worth carrying home,” she said, slowly.  “I couldn’t buy handsome presents like yours, you know, so I just picked up little things here and there, that wouldn’t be worth anything at all if they hadn’t come from famous places.”

“Show them to me, anyhow,” persisted Lloyd.

Betty untied a small box.  “It’s only a handful of lava,” she explained, “that I picked up on Vesuvius.  But Davy will like it because he thinks a volcano is such a wonderful thing.  Here are some pebbles the boys will be interested in, because I found them on the field of Waterloo.  They are making collections of such things, and Waterloo is a long way from the Cuckoo’s Nest.  They haven’t any foreign things at all.

“I wanted to take something nice to Miss Allison, but I couldn’t afford to buy anything fine enough.  So I just pressed these buttercups that grew by the gate of Anne Hathaway’s cottage.  See how sunshiny and satiny they are?  Cousin Carl gave me a photograph of the cottage, and I fastened the buttercups here on the side.  I couldn’t offer such a little gift to some people, but Miss Allison is the kind that appreciates the thought that prompts a gift more than the thing itself.”

There were a few more photographs, a handkerchief for Mom Beck, and a string of cheap Venetian beads for May Lily.  The most expensive article in the collection was a little mosaic pin for her Cousin Hetty.  “I got that in Venice,” said Betty.  “Cousin Hetty hasn’t a single piece of jewelry to her name, and she never gets any presents but plain, useful things, so I am sure she will be pleased.”

Lloyd turned away, thinking of the great contrast between her gifts and Betty’s, and wishing that she had not made such a display of hers.

“If I were in Betty’s place,” she said to herself, “I’d be so jealous of me that I could hardly stand it.  She’s just a little orphan alone in the world, and I have mothah and Papa Jack and Hero and Tarbaby for my very own.”