CHAPTER VIII.
HUH?
WOOLLY CROCHETED SLIPPERS The night before Christmas Dick Prescott attended a ball, in his new capacity of reporter.
Being young, also "green" in the ways of newspaper work, he imagined it his duty to remain rather late in order to be sure that he had all the needed data for the brief description that he was to write for "The Blade." Christmas morning the boy slept late, for his parents did not call him.

When, at last, Dick did appear in the dining room he found some pleasing gifts from his father and mother.

When he had sufficiently examined them, Mrs.Prescott smiled as she said: "Now, step into the parlor, Richard, and you'll find something that came for you this morning." "But, first of all, mother, I've something for you and Dad." Dick went back into his room, bringing out, with some pride, a silver-plated teapot on a tray of the same material.

It wasn't much, but it was the finest gift he had ever been able to make his parents.

He came in for a good deal of thanks and other words of appreciation.
"But you're forgetting the package in the parlor," persisted Mrs.
Prescott presently.
Dick nodded, and hurried in, thinking to himself: "The worsted slippers from the girls, I suppose." To his surprise the boy found Dave Darrin sitting in the room, while, on a chair near by rested a rather bulky package.
After exchanging "Merry Christmas" greetings with Darrin, Dick turned to look at the package.