That's why I say Christmas is for the
rich--it's a sort of general exchange and take it back if you don't like
it or have half a dozen like 'em, or put it away and send it to some one
next Christmas. Miss Lewis, at the Settlement where mother worked, gave
a book to a lady one Christmas and got it back the next, and the leaves
weren't even cut."
Robin laughed in spite of her disapproval of Beryl's heresy. "There
_are_ different kinds of Christmases, Beryl, and I'll show you," she
protested, then and there vowing to make the Christmas at the Manor a
merry one, in spite of odds.
"Well, the nicest thing _I_ know that's going to happen is that
Rub-a-dub-dub is going home," retorted Beryl.
"That _is_ nice, but there'll be even nicer things. Let's invite your
mother and Dale for dinner and have a little tree and we'll make all
sorts of foolish things to put on it."
To Beryl this did not sound at all exciting but Robin loved the thought
of sitting with Mrs. Lynch and Dale and Beryl, like one happy family,
around the long table. She'd ask Harkness to cut pine boughs and a nice
smelly tree, which she and Beryl would adorn with gifts that had no more
value than a good laugh.
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