A BIRTHDAY PRESENT
On one of Mr. Casey’s flying trips to the city it happened to be Mrs.
Hollister’s birthday. Nora told him of the fact and after school
together they whisked away in a taxi to shop. Upon their return he
presented Mrs. Hollister with a large box, and in the most delicate
manner begged her to accept it as a slight token of his gratitude for
her interest in and kindness to Nora.
“Ye’ve been a mother to my girl and she loves ye well. Her own
mother—God rest her soul—as I’ve often told ye, would be proud of her,
and she’d know better what to give a lady, but if ye’ll accept these,
ma’am, Nora and I will be pleased.”
Mrs. Hollister was visibly affected. She actually wiped her eyes.
“I will accept them with pleasure, Mr. Casey,” she said, “but don’t
forget Nora is a great comfort to all of us. We have grown to love her
as our own,” and she opened the box thinking it might contain a pretty
waist or something of that sort when to her surprise there she beheld a
most magnificent set of sables. She couldn’t speak. The poor woman had
never dared to dream of owning such a thing. Her heart stood still and
she turned and took Nora in her arms, kissing her fondly. Then she shook
Mr. Casey’s hand as though she would never stop.
“Mr. Casey, you are too generous. I have always loved sables, but I
never expected to own a set. I don’t know how to thank you for your
kindness.”
“Say nothing about it,” replied the man. “Nora and I consider it a
privilege if ye’ll wear our gifts, don’t we, Nora?”
“Indeed we do,” replied the girl. “There are so many things that you do
for me, Mrs. Hollister, that money can not compensate.”
Ethel was now eighteen. One evening Harvey Bigelow invited her to the
theatre. On their way home he asked her if she ever could care for him
enough to become his wife.
“Oh, Harvey!” gasped Ethel, “I am so sorry. Why did you spoil our lovely
friendship? I’ll have to answer ‘no,’ and I dislike to hurt your
feelings.”
“That’s all right, little girl,” said Harvey, swallowing hard. “I was an
ass to even imagine that you could care for me, but you see I’m coming
on so well that I shall soon put out my sign, and I felt that you might
be such a help to me; that is, if you could care for me a little bit.”
“And there are so many nice girls,” she said, “waiting for just such a
good man as yourself.”
“But, Ethel, I don’t want any girl. I want one. If I can’t have her I
guess I’ll stay single. Anyway, I suppose a man needs to practice a lot
before he marries. There’s a couple of years in the Hospital. But I’m
glad I know the truth, Ethel. By Jove! it’s off my chest. I’ve tried to
speak of it before but I couldn’t.”
“I wish I could say ‘yes,’ Harvey; but can’t we still remain the good
pals that we are?”
“Why, sure,” replied the man, and he took her hand. “A man needs a woman
friend, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” replied Ethel, “and I hope to prove my friendship for you.”
Ethel never spoke of her proposal, nor did Harvey; but there was a
firmer bond between them than formerly.
Patty wrote often. “You never saw two people so in love as Papa and
Kate. It is wonderful and remarkably right. I only feel sorry to think
that through all of these years they might have been so happy, and I’m
sure papa kept single for me. How selfish daughters are, Ethel; and at
the same time how little they realize that they are selfish.”
Ethel folded the letter and said:
“What she writes is true. You and Papa might have had all of the years
of my youth to be happy in, but you sacrificed them for me, and they’ll
never, never come back.”
“That’s all right,” said her mother, kissing her. “My happiness since
you entered college has compensated for it, believe me, my dear little
girl,” and she kissed her tenderly.
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