"It's _very_ carefully done up," said I, cutting the second string.
"It must be something nice," said Polly, decisively; "that's why it's
taken such care of."
If Polly's reasoning were just, it must have been something very nice
indeed, for under the second wrapper was a third, and under the third
was a fourth, and under the fourth was a fifth, and under the fifth
was a sixth, and under the sixth was a seventh. We were just on the
point of giving it up in despair when we came to a box. With some
difficulty we got the lid open, and took out one or two folds of
paper. Then there was a lot of soft shavings, such as brittle toys and
gimcracks are often packed in, and among the shavings was--a small
neatly-folded white-paper parcel. _And inside the parcel was a
cinder._
We certainly looked very foolish as we stood before our present. I do
not think any of the people we had taken in had looked so thoroughly
and completely so. We were both on the eve of crying, and both ended
by laughing. Then Polly--in those trenchant tones which recalled Aunt
Maria forcibly to one's mind--said,
"Well! we quite deserve it."
The "parcel-post" was discontinued.
We had no doubt as to who had played us this trick.
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