“Pooh, I wouldn’t!” said Marjorie.  “The things are lovely, but I’d rather play than sew.”

“Sewing is play, I think,” and Kitty fingered over her treasures lovingly.  “Grandma will help me with my patterns, and I’m going to piece a silk teachest quilt.  Oh, Mother, it will be such fun!”

“Call that fun!” and Marjorie looked disdainfully at her sister.  “Fun is racing around and playing tag, and cutting up jinks generally!”

“For you it is,” Kitty agreed, amiably, “but not for me.  I like what I like.”

“That’s good philosophy, Kitty,” said her father.  “Stick to it always.  Like what you like, and don’t be bothered by other people’s comments or opinions.  Now, what’s in that smallish, flattish, whitish parcel?”

The parcel in question proved to be a watch, a dear little gold watch.  Kitty had never owned one before, and it almost took her breath away.

“Mine?” she exclaimed, in wonder.  “All mine?”

“Yes, every bit yours,” said Mr. Maynard, smiling at her.  “Every wheel and spring, every one of its three hands, every one of its twelve hours are all, all yours.  Do you like it?”

“Like it!  I can’t think of any words to tell you how much I like it.”

“I’ll think of some for you,” said the accommodating Marjorie.  “You could say it’s the grandest, gloriousest, gorgeousest, magnificentest present you ever had!”

“Yes, I could say that,” Kitty agreed, “but I never should have thought of it.  I ’most always say a thing is lovely.  Now, what in the world is this?”

“This” proved to be a well-stocked portfolio, the gift of King.  There were notepaper and envelopes and a pen and pencils and stamps and everything to write letters with.

“I picked out all the things myself,” King explained, “because it’s nicer that way than the ready furnished ones.  Do you like it, Kit?”

“Yes, indeedy!  And I shall write my first letter to you, because you gave it to me.”

    “Oh, Kitty-Cat Kit, a letter she writ,
    And sent it away, to her brother one day,”

chanted Marjorie, and, as was their custom, they all sang the song after her, some several times over.

“Now for mine,” Midget said, as Kitty slowly untied the next parcel.  It was two volumes of Fairy Tales, which literature was Kitty’s favorite reading.

“Oh, lovely!” she exclaimed.  “On summer afternoons you can think of me, sitting out in the tree-house reading these.  I shall pretend I’m a Fairy Princess.  These are beautiful stories, I can see that already.”

Kitty’s quick eye had caught an interesting page, and forgetting all else, she became absorbed in the book at once.  In a moment, the page was turned, and Kitty read on and on, oblivious to time or place.

“Hi, there, Kitsie!  Come out o’ that!” cried King.  “You can read all summer,—­now you must associate with your family.”