Her face was perfectly white, except where dark marks lay under her
eyes, and her small lips formed between them the rigid line of pain.
It was impossible to hold out any longer, and Madam Liberality broke
down and poured forth all her woes.
"I'll put my feet in hot water, and do anything you like, mother
dear," said she, "if only you'll let me try and have a tree, and keep
it secret from the others. I do so want to surprise them."
"If you'll go to your room, my darling, and do as I tell you, I'll
keep your secret, and help you with your tree," said her mother.
"Don't cry, my child, don't cry; it's so bad for your throat. I think
I can find you some beads to make a necklace for Darling, and three
pencils for the boys, and some paper which you can cut up into
drawing-books for them."
A little hope went a long way with Madam Liberality, and she began to
take heart. At the same time she felt her illness more keenly now
there was no need for concealing it. She sat over the fire and inhaled
steam from an old teapot, and threaded beads, and hoped she would be
allowed to go to church next day, and to preside at her Christmas-tree
afterwards.
In the afternoon her throat grew rapidly worse.
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