In the afternoon her throat grew rapidly worse.  She had begged—­almost impatiently—­that Darling would not leave the Christmas preparations to sit with her, and as talking was bad for her, and as she had secret preparations to make on her own account, her mother had supported her wish to be left alone.

But when it grew dusk, and the drawing-books were finished, Madam Liberality felt lonely.  She put a shawl round her head, and went to the window.  There was not much to be seen.  The fields were deeply buried in snow, and looked like great white feather beds, shaken up unequally against the hedges.  The road was covered so deeply that she could hardly have traced it, if she had not known where it was.  How dark the old church tower looked amid so much whiteness!

And the snow-flakes fell like sugar-plums among the black trees.  One could almost hear the keen wind rustling through the bending sedges by the pond, where the ice looked quite “safe” now.  Madam Liberality hoped she would be able to get out before this fine frost was over.  She knew of an old plank which would make an admirable sledge, and she had a plan for the grandest of winter games all ready in her head.  It was to be called Arctic Discovery—­and she was to be the chief discoverer.

As she fancied herself—­starving but scientific, chilled to the bone, yet undaunted—­discovering a north-west passage at the upper end of the goose pond, the clock struck three from the old church tower.  Madam Liberality heard it with a pang.  At three o’clock—­if he had had her shillings—­she would have been expecting the return of the carrier, with the presents for her Christmas-tree.

Even as she thought about it, the old hooded waggon came lumbering down among the snow-drifts in the lane.  There was a bunch of mistletoe at the head, and the old carrier went before the horse, and the dog went before the carrier.  And they were all three up to their knees in snow, and all three had their noses down, as much as to say, “Such is life; but we must struggle on.”

Poor Madam Liberality!  The sight of the waggon and the mistletoe overwhelmed her.  It only made matters worse to see the waggon come towards the house.  She rather wondered what the carrier was bringing; but whatever it was, it was not the toys.

She went back to her seat by the fire, and cried bitterly; and, as she cried, the ball in her throat seemed to grow larger, till she could hardly breathe.  She was glad when the door opened, and her mother’s kind face looked in.

“Is Darling here?” she asked.

“No, mother,” said Madam Liberality huskily.

“Then you may bring it in,” said her mother to some one outside, and the servant appeared, carrying a wooden box, which she put down before Madam Liberality, and then withdrew.  “Now don’t speak,” said her mother, “it is bad for you, and your eyes have asked fifty questions already, my child.  Where did the box come from?  The carrier brought it.  Who is it for?  It’s for you.  Who sent it?  That I don’t know.  What is inside?  I thought you would like to be the first to see.  My idea is that perhaps your godmother has sent you a Christmas-box, and I thought that there might be things in it which would help you with your Christmas-tree, so I have not told any one about it.”