Don't you go--"
"Tut, tut!" exclaimed Mr. Bingle, moving over so that Melissa could
drop the coals into the stove. "Remember you are only a gentleman,
Wilberforce."
"I'd like to know how I can remember it in a place like this," pouted
the boy.
"It's all right, Mr. Bingle," said Melissa cheerily, "I don't mind
being called a servant. It's better than 'hired girl.'"
There was a pathetic attempt at seasonable illumination and decoration
in the crowded living-room, sprigs of holly, some tapers and tinsel,
cotton snowballs and popcorn strands being in the least congested
corners, and the table had ten candles standing in two sedate rows.
These were not to be lighted until just before soup was served, and
each participant at the board was to light his or her candle from the
taper supplied by Melissa.
Over in one corner of the room reposed a small pile of packages, each
neatly tied up with red ribbon. These represented the gifts of Mr.
Bingle and Melissa to the palpably indifferent youngsters. Two bottles
of milk stood on the radiator, which, according to Melissa, was
infinitely colder than the ice box in the pantry.
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