"It ain't for me," said she, after she had examined the address. "It's
Bob's."
"Bob's, eh?" queried the inventor. "I didn't notice, not havin' on my
readin' glasses. So it's Bob's, is it?"
"Yes," answered Celestina, eyeing the neat parcel curiously.
"Whoever's sendin' you a bundle all tied up with white paper an' pink
string, Bob? It looks like it was jewelry."
Quickly Willie sprang to the rescue.
"Oh, Bob's been gettin' some repairin' done for the Brewsters,"
explained he. "Delight's buckle was broke an' knowin' the best place
to send it, he mailed it up to town."
"Oh," responded Celestina, glancing from one to the other with a half
satisfied air.
"Let's have the thing out an' see how it looks, Bob," Willie went on.
Blushingly Robert Morton undid the box.
Yes, there amid wrappings of tissue paper, on a bed of blue cotton
wool, rested the buckle of silver, its burnished surface sparkling in
the light.
He took it out and inspected it carefully.
"It is all O. K.," observed he, with an attempt at indifference.
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