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Mary, Edith, Sybil, and Patrick had crept out of bed on the night of Christmas Eve, to examine the presents under the tree. It was a childish pastime for the elder three to indulge in, but they’d done it all their lives – it was a matter of routine by now.
Sybil’s box rattled when she shook it. She seemed very pleased with this, bringing it to her ear to try and determine what it was.
“You mustn’t shake it too much,” Edith chid, “you could break whatever’s inside.”
She paused, seeing her sister’s point, and put it down. “What sound does yours make?”
Edith cautiously tipped hers from side to side.
“It sounds like fabric.”
“So does mine,” Mary chimed in, as she gently shook her own.
“Perhaps you’ve got matching dresses,” Patrick suggested, with a hint of a grin.
“I know you’re joking, but that’s a very real possibility,” Mary sighed.
Sybil cut in before Mary or Edith could begin arguing.
“Patrick, what do you think’s in yours?”
He picked his up and jiggled it, producing a thumping noise.
“It must be a book.”
“Well,” Mary declared, “whatever we’ve all gotten, mine has the prettiest wrapping, and that’s that.”