gift" to him, he glowered at her and turned his face away with an ugly snort that cut her to the very quick. Budda was too hard on her, too unforgiving.
He tried to make her marry June, then he tried to make her quit grieving over July but now, when she had proved to the world by means of Seraphine that July was out of her mind, and June in his place, Budda was cross and mean and would not speak to her even on Christmas Day. It didn't seem right. He was so vexed with her, he hated a little innocent baby.
Mary thought and thought until the long shadows began closing in on the sunshine. She must do something. If Christmas passed and Budda still stayed angry she would never be able to win him back.
The sun had set and the clear first dark had grown keen and chilly, but she wrapped a warm woolen shawl carefully around Seraphine and, hurrying to the wood-pile, laid the child in Budda's lap, calling out, "Here's a Christmas gift for you, Budda." She ran away as fast as she could, stopping behind a tree to hide so she could peep out and see what happened. Budda was ready to go home, but now he was trapped. He dropped his stick and snatched the baby up as if he would throw her away.
