I do not think he has an idea what fine, loud, Billingsgate voices his children _really_ have.

He has said grace--we always have a longer, _gratefuller_ grace than usual on Sundays--and has risen to go.
"Now for it!" cries Bobby, wildly excited, and giving me an awful dig in the ribs with his elbow.
"Shall I get it ?" asks the general, in an encouraging whisper.

"Cheer up, Nancy! do not look so _white_! it is all right." He rises and fetches it, slips it quickly out of its coverings, and puts it into my hand.

Father has reached the door, I run after him.
"Father!" cry I, in a choked and trembling voice.

"Stop!" He turns with the handle in his grasp, and looks at me in some surprise.
"Father!" cry I, beginning again, and holding my gift out nervously toward him, "here's--here's--here's a _bag_!" This is my address of presentation.