Then his arm went up to
cover his eyes.
"We haven't time," began Flanders, but caught a warning look from his
pretty wife.
"We will have dessert and coffee with you, Mr. Bingle," she said,
coming over to lay her hand upon his arm.
"Tha--that's fine," gulped Mr. Bingle with a mighty and partially
successful effort to regain control of his flitting senses. And it was
some time after that before he could trust himself to join in the
merry, excited chatter. He kept on repeating "God bless my soul," in
response to nearly every remark that was directed to him.
"You are not to open a single package until after we are gone,"
commanded Amy Colgate later on, confronting the eager, covetous
children as she arose from the trunk which served as a chair for both
herself and Mr. Bingle in Diggs's hasty readjustment of the seats at
table. "The roses are for you, dear Mr. Bingle, with my love--my real
love. I know that you will take them to Mrs. Bingle to-morrow, but
they are for you to-night. Give her my love and wish her a Merry,
Merry Christmas from Dick and me.
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