Part 8 (2/2)
If he woke once he had no recollection of it in the morning.
This, too, despite the fact that it was Christmas, and he had all of a boy's natural desire to know what the day was to bring him.
Rat-tat-tat! sounded Mrs. Prescott's soft fist on d.i.c.k's bedroom door that morning.
”Wake up, son!” Mrs. Prescott called for the second time.
”I--I'm awake,” gasped d.i.c.k sleepily.
”Get up, then, son. Have you forgotten that this is Christmas?”
”No'm; I haven't.” d.i.c.k's feet struck the floor heavily, and he reached out for his clothing. ”Merry Christmas, mother! Is dad there?”
”He's out in the kitchen, raking the fire. Don't you hear him?”
”Yes'm. Say, mother, have you seen your presents yet?”
”I found a handsome gold chain from your father on my bureau.”
”Was that all you found?”
”Yes.”
”Where did you look?” chuckled d.i.c.k.
”Why, on the parlor table, as usual, to be sure.”
”Better look again, mother,” laughed d.i.c.k.
By this time he was nearly dressed. He heard Mrs. Prescott going back into the parlor.
”I don't find anything else here for me,” Mrs. Prescott called back in a puzzled voice.
”Mother, at this rate, you'll soon be needing specs,” called d.i.c.k, throwing open his bedroom door and looking out.
”But I don't see anything else for me, Richard,” insisted his mother, as the boy entered the parlor.
”Look again, mother. Surely, you----”
Then d.i.c.k halted suddenly, staring hard at the table, and at the mantel beyond.
”Why, I left----” he began, and then looked more puzzled. At last he grinned as the solution of the mystery came into his mind.
”It's just one of dad's jokes,” he laughed. ”Or else dad forgot. I gave it to him last night, to lay on the table after you had gone to bed. You see, mother, this is the first Christmas that I have had money of my own with which to buy you something really nice. I'll ask dad where it is.”
”Who's taking my name in vain?” called Mr. Prescott, as he came through the hallway and looked in the parlor. ”Merry Christmas, d.i.c.k.”
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