"Merry Christmas, Brownie, dear!" said the breathless one. She hung
over the stout shoulders a tiny shawl of softest white wool.
"It's only a shawl-let," Norah explained, "just for when you feel the
summer evenings get cool, you know."
"An' you made it, my precious!"
"Why, of course," said Norah, lifting her brows; "do you think I'd buy
it, when you taught me to knit? Ah, Brownie, I'm having such a good
time!"
"Look at me!" said Mrs. Brown, sitting down in rapture, and forgetting
her frying pan entirely. "This lovely shawl--an' your Pa's cheque--and
here's even Master Wally brung me down a cap, an' Master Jim--don't 'e
always think!--a frame with the photer 'e took of you an' your Pa, an'
it's sollud silver, no less, if you'll believe me, an' then it's none
too good for the photer, but the dear lamb knew wot I'd like more than
anything on earth! Of all the loving--kindest children--" At this point
Brownie's feelings overcame her, and she sniffed and, inhaling a threat
of burnt potato, rushed to conceal her emotions over the stove.
Sarah and Mary felt delighted with the pretty collars Mrs. Stephenson
had chosen for Norah in Melbourne; the daughter of the house
encountered Jim returning from the back regions, with a broad smile on
his brown face.
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