Frowning, Miss Ada studied the list. ``Well, let's see. The china lemon tree. The alabaster cockatoo.'' Winston followed her around the room, collecting the small frail objects (Christmas, birthday, and anniversary) and wrapping them in tissue paper. Neither of them trusted the movers.

When they came to Mr. Jack's photograph, twenty by twelve inches in a curly silver frame, Miss Ada said, ``By rights I ought to leave that, seeing he wonn't take my clotheshorse.'' She smiled at Winston, and he saw the hateful hard glitter in her eyes. He picked up the photograph and began to wrap it.

``At least you could leave it for the movers,'' Miss Ada said. ``What possessed you to tell me a clotheshorse would be a good idea?''

Winston folded the tissue paper carefully. ``He's used it every day; every morning, I lay out his clothes on it.''

``Well, that's over now. And it was his main present! Leave that fool picture out,'' she added sharply.

Winston laid it in the basket. ``Mr. Jack sets store by that.''

``Really, Winston. It was meant to be my present.'' But she went on down the list.

Winston was relieved; those presents had been on his mind. He had only agreed with Miss Ada about getting the valet, but he had actually suggested the photograph to Mr. Jack. ``You know what she likes, Winston,'' he had said wearily, one evening in November when Winston was pulling off his overshoes. ``Tell me what to get her for Christmas.''