On the afternoon of the meeting at Miss Brown's, when the silver keys were distributed, Jim had walked home with Aunt Zélie and said as they reached the gate, "Thank you very much for the pin, Mrs. Howard; I mean to remember the motto and be a helper if I can."
"I am sure you do, and you are more than welcome," she replied, thinking, as she looked into the bright, handsome face, "He wants to please me now, but perhaps it will grow into a higher motive."
Jim was quite in earnest when he said this. Three months in the Good Neighbors Club had somewhat changed his point of view. He might still be inconsiderate and thoughtless, but he no longer defended himself by saying that every fellow must look out for himself.
The friendship of little John Armstrong was doing much for him. A strong liking had sprung up between the two, rather to the surprise of everybody. From the first John showed a decided preference for Jim, who was so big and strong and capable, everything he himself was not; and in the same way the helpless weakness of the invalid made its appeal to the boy who in all his life had never been ill.
Certainly Miss Brown was right when she said that the silver keys could open a door of pleasure to the lame boy.
The children could not guess the happiness their companionship gave him. He listened with eager interest to all they told him of their life at home and at school, and when they were gone he lived it over again in imagination. He cherished a secret desire to belong to the Order, but would not have mentioned it for the world, for how could he help? He wrote the motto in his note-book, and then for weeks spent all his spare time copying it on parchment in letters taken from an old English missal, one of his father's treasures, drawing and coloring them with greatest care. When it was done it was really beautiful, and Jim, who was in the secret, had it nicely framed and presented it, as we know, at the next meeting of the Order.
But John wanted to be a real helper. He thought about it a great deal, but everything was done for him; there seemed to be no chance.
One day he noticed a lot of magazines which his father had been looking over, and left lying on the floor when he was suddenly called away. They belonged on the lower shelves of the bookcase, and it occurred to him that he might replace them. He rolled his chair over to that side of the room, and with a good deal of effort put them back in order on the shelves. Then when Dr. Armstrong thanked his wife that evening for putting them away, and she answered that she had not even seen them, John had the great delight of surprising them. It sent him to bed with a happy heart. However, next day he began to doubt whether so small a thing would count, and when Jim dropped in in the afternoon he asked his opinion. "Of course, you see, I can't do much of anything, but I'd like to help a little," he said.
"Count?" said Jim, the despiser of trifles; "of course it does; everything counts."
He told the boys and Aunt Zélie about it at the next meeting of the G.N. Club. "I can't help feeling sorry for the little fellow; I never thought before how hard it would be not to be able to do things like other people, but just sit still and be waited on; so I told him I thought it would count. Don't you think so?" Jim looked at Aunt Zélie appealingly, half afraid the boys would laugh at his soft-heartedness.
"I certainly do," she answered, and Will said, "There are a great many things he could do, I am sure. Did he ever show you his scrap-books? They are beautifully done. He could make some smaller ones for the hospital."
"Why couldn't we make him a member of the Order? He would be so pleased," said Jim.
"He couldn't come, could he?" asked Ikey, not meaning to object.
"Why couldn't he?" said Carl; "some of us could carry him over as easily as not."
"I say let's talk it over with the girls and have him here next Friday," said Will.
The girls entered into it willingly. "Of course he ought to belong, for he made us that beautiful motto," said Elsie.
"And we must get up something interesting for him," said Louise, who with Jim was on the entertainment committee.
Aunt Zélie consulted Mrs. Armstrong and found she was not willing to let John go out at night, so the time of the meeting was changed to Friday afternoon. Nothing was said to John himself till that morning, when Carl stopped in on his way to school to invite him.
"Could I go? Do you think I could go, Mother?" he asked eagerly, and from then until lunch time he lived in delightful anticipation.
After that the minutes dragged till three, when the boys came for him, and the journey from the parsonage to the star chamber was easily accomplished. This apartment presented a festive appearance, decorated with flags and bunting which had done service in one of Aunt Marcia's numerous charitable entertainments.
"You see, John," Louise explained as soon as his chair had been placed in a corner from which he could see everything, "Aunt Zélie said we ought to have colors for our Order, and I thought, and so did Bess and Dora, that red, white, and blue would be nicest, because they are the colors of our country. Carl says it is silly, for we are not doing anything for our country, but I'm sure we would if we could."
As Louise chattered away John looked around him. His motto hung in the place of honor over the mantel. In front of this was a low platform which dated back to Uncle William's time, and had often done duty for tableaux and such things; on it were two chairs and a table for the President and Secretary. Chairs for the audience were arranged in rows facing this. It was a most exciting moment to John when Will took the chair and called the meeting to order in a business-like way. Bess read the minutes of the last meeting, and Ikey gave the Treasurer's report. Then came reports from the two clubs, given respectively by Elsie and Aleck. The M.Ks. were still at work on the afghan for old Aunt Sallie, which was nearly done, and Miss Brown was reading aloud to them "A New England Girlhood."
The G.Ns. had finished one of their screens and were at work on another while they listened to "The Life of Washington."
"Next in order is the election of new members," said Will, and John started and flushed and then felt ashamed that he could be so silly as to think he was meant.
Jim rose and said, "Mr. President, I nominate John Armstrong."
This was seconded by Ikey, and the President continued: "John Armstrong is nominated; all in favor will please say 'aye.'"
The "ayes" were overwhelming, and accompanied by such a clapping of hands that the President forgot to ask for the "noes."
When it was quiet again John found voice to say timidly, "I'm afraid I won't amount to much, but I am very much obliged and I'll try."
When Louise pinned a little silver key with a tiny bow of red, white, and blue ribbon on his coat no Knight of the Garter was ever prouder of his decoration.
The President announced that he had been told of a little girl who had to lie on her back for a year on account of some spinal trouble, and who had almost nothing to amuse her, so if anyone had scrap-books or toys and would send them to her it would be helping.
John's eyes grew bright; here was something for him to do.
After this the meeting adjourned, the table and chairs were removed from the platform, a white curtain drawn, the room darkened, and the audience, such as did not take part, were treated to shadow pictures.
John, who had never seen any before, laughed till he cried at "Lord Ullin's Daughter" and "The Ballad of the Oysterman." This last was performed with particularly fine effect by Carl and Louise, and everybody knows how funny it is when well done.
John was carried home again very tired, but with a radiant face, eager to show his silver key. As the spring days grew warm and pleasant his wheeled chair was often seen on the sidewalk, or in the Hazeltines' garden, where he liked to watch the games of tennis and croquet, drawing clever little caricatures of the players meanwhile. Somebody was always ready to wheel him about, and in the pleasure of young companionship he grew stronger, and his face lost much of its pathetic look.
About this time old Mr. Ford, whose eyes were growing dim, discovered that when the print of his paper was particularly fine a pair of strong young eyes were ready to lend their service. Sweet-tempered Ikey had always been willing enough to help when it occurred to him, but his thoughts were likely to be anywhere else than at home, so that the broadest hints were lost on him. Now, with the little key to remind him, he was oftener on the lookout for opportunities, and as the months passed his grandfather was heard to say: "Isaac is a fine boy, only a little mischievous," and Mrs. Ford added: "Yes, he is really growing like his father."
The letters that found their way across the sea were not homesick in these days, and Ikey's mother ceased to worry about him.
In ways like these the silver keys did their work. Their owners did not forthwith turn into models of helpfulness and unselfishness; such things need time to grow, and this is exactly what they began to do. Only little sprouts, hardly to be noticed at first, they gave promise of being sturdy plants some day.
Miss Brown sat in her accustomed place by the window, where the sun was pouring in in a springlike way, though it was only February. Her sitting-room wore a festive air; the curtains looked crisp and white as if they were just hung, the old mahogany shone with more than its ordinary lustre, and on a table at her side stood a bowl filled with white carnations. She looked about her with happy eyes, for she had been away a month and had discovered that there was no place like home, after all.
From the pleasant room she turned to the window, and her glance went across the sunny street and rested on the Big Front Door.
It opened presently, as she rather expected, and Bess and Louise came out with their work-bags, and stood talking to Aunt Zélie, who followed them.
"Dear, dear, how those children are growing! It seems only yesterday that they broke my window and came to confess."
As she watched them Miss Brown thought, as she had so often before, what a happy home that was, and how much of its brightness found its way over to her!
"Come for us early this afternoon, Carl, for we want to go out to Uncle William's," said Bess to her brother, who had joined them and was carefully marking his aunt's height on the wall.
"You are not expecting me to grow any more, I suppose," said that lady, laughing.
"I simply wish to prove to you that I am two inches taller, so you can't lord it over me any longer, madam."
"I was under the impression that the lording came from quite a different quarter."
"That is a base slander; you know I am your humble slave, so take it back," and Carl gave her a hug that compelled her to cry for mercy.
"If you must embrace me, let it not be in public; what will the neighbors think?" she said, as he released her.
"They may think that I am very fond of you, and where is the harm?" following her into the hall and closing the door.
Over at Miss Brown's a few minutes later five work-bags were being opened, their owners all talking at once as they took out their thimbles and needles.
Though nearly two years and a half had passed since the day when the M.Ks. took their first lesson in knitting, the club still flourished, and after a month's holiday they were eager to begin the meetings again.
"We did hardly any work while you were gone, we were so afraid of making some mistake," said Louise, bringing her chair to Miss Brown's side.
"Uncle William's dreams ought to be sweet when he takes his nap under this; I believe Dora's stripe is the prettiest of all," and Bess held up her friend's work admiringly.
"Dora's stripes are always prettiest," said Elsie; "I wish I could do half so well."
"Aren't they absurd, Miss Brown, when it is only because daisies look particularly well on tan color?" said Dora, laughing.
"I think the skilful fingers have something to do with it, but I am proud of all the work."
"We have improved a little since we made the afghan for Aunt Sallie, haven't we?" remarked Constance.
"You have, indeed, but you were such dear little girls then, and now you are growing distressingly tall; I do not half like it." Miss Brown shook her head disapprovingly as she looked around the circle.
"I think it will be very nice to be grown up," said Elsie, who was already beginning to consider herself a young lady at fourteen.
"I'd much rather stay a little girl. I don't like growing up. Next year Carl is going away to school, and all our good times will be over," and Bess sighed as though the weight of years already rested on her shoulders.
"Well, we are only little girls yet, so what is the use of worrying?" said Louise, who, though she was tallest of all, was more of a child than any of the others.
Dora was perhaps more changed than any of her friends. She was growing very sweet and womanly, and her manners were as simple and frank as ever. Her mother's feeble health brought her more care than fell to the share of most girls of her age, and this made her seem older than she really was.
This afternoon she seemed somewhat preoccupied and silent. When appealed to she answered as brightly as usual, but a thoughtful, anxious look came to her face when she turned to her work.
Miss Brown noticed it and wondered what was troubling her.
"Girls," exclaimed Bess, "suppose we give Uncle William a party when we finish the slumber robe—just our set, you know."
This suggestion met with enthusiastic approval, and was discussed with great glee till Louise announced the arrival of the boys.
On pleasant Saturdays they often dropped in about five o'clock, and when work was put up went with the girls for a walk, a custom which Aunt Zélie encouraged, for she liked to have her boys and girls together.
Carl came across the street, followed by Will and Aleck; Ikey, who was waiting at his gate, joined them; and a moment later Jim came hurrying round the corner.
"Let's show them the slumber robe," proposed Louise. So they were called in while Bess and Elsie spread their work over a chair.
The boys went through the ordeal fairly well, being amiably desirous of pleasing the proud needlewomen.
Will brought down their scorn upon his head by saying it was pretty, as if it were not "lovely," and Aleck insulted Dora by examining her daisies with a critical air and then asking what sort of flowers they were.
For this stupidity Carl promised to punish him.
"Aren't you coming with us, Dora?" asked Bess when they reached the street, seeing that she turned toward home.
"I am sorry, but I can't this afternoon," she said.
They united in coaxing her, but she would not listen, and with a cheerful good-by walked briskly away.
"Mayn't I carry your parcel for you?" asked a voice at her side.
"Why, Carl, I thought you had gone with the others! It isn't dark. I do not need anyone."
"Please, ma'm, I'd like to walk with you if you don't mind."
Dora couldn't help smiling, though she said severely, "I don't believe you. It is because you think I am lonely by myself. I am much obliged to you, but I wish you would run after the others."
Carl coolly took possession of the work-bag. "You will have to make the best of it, for I am going home with you."
They walked on in silence for a minute; then he asked meekly, "Are you mad?"
"You know I am not."
"Then you might tell what is the matter. You don't know how much good, honest confession does one."
"Yes, I do, but I have nothing to confess. I am worried about something, but you cannot help me, and it is not worth speaking of, at any rate."
"Come home, then, and tell Aunt Zélie; she is pretty good at helping."
"I ought to know that; still I don't know what even she could do. It is not much, after all; I am just rather low in my mind, as Mrs. West says." Dora smiled with an attempt at cheerfulness not altogether successful.
"Don't fib; brace up and make a clean breast of it, and if you need advice I am full of it."
"Dear me, you are such a goose! I shall not have any peace till I tell you. Well, then, the beginning of it is that Mrs. West is going to Florida to live."
"I am sorry, but it seems to me matters might be worse," Carl answered gravely.
"Of course you don't understand it. It means that we must find another boarding place, where I am sure I do not know. We can't afford any that are near here, and Mamma does so hate to board, she is not a bit happy. I would give anything if we could have a little house all to ourselves."
"There is one thing certain, you shall not go away from this neighborhood. Don't worry about it, it will come out all right."
Dora felt a little comforted by Carl's sympathy, though she knew he could not help her.
"Are you sure you could not find a small house that would do?" he asked.
"Yes, I know that is quite out of the question. Even a small house would cost too much, and then it would be too lonely for Mamma, when I am at school. You see it was foolish in me to tell you, for it only bothers you for nothing."
"Just wait a minute, I have an idea," said Carl, putting his hands in his pockets and assuming an air of deep meditation.
"It is ever so much better than Mrs. West's!" he exclaimed presently. "I am glad the old lady is going. I shall not tell you what it is till I investigate, but I am sure it will do."
He was so interested in his scheme, whatever it might be, that he would not wait a moment, but rushed away as soon as the door was opened.
"Ridiculous boy! What can he be thinking of?" Dora said to herself as she went upstairs, her curiosity much stronger than her faith.
"Aunt Zélie, can't you come with me over to the bakery?" asked Carl, bursting in upon her five minutes later.
"If it is a matter of life and death I presume I can," she replied. "What is going on there?"
"Nothing; I'll tell you about it, only do get your things, or it will be dark."
As she put on her hat and coat he told her about Dora's trouble, which she could appreciate far better than he.
"She said she knew they could not find a house that would do," he went on, "and that reminded me that there is a 'For Rent' sign in the windows over the bakery. You know if they lived there Mrs. Smith would be good to them, and perhaps they could get their meals from her. So I want you to look at the rooms and see what you think. Dora would listen to you."
Very much amused, Aunt Zélie went with him, agreeing that it might be practicable.
Mrs. Smith, the wife of the confectioner, was delighted to show her rooms, and led the way through the store into the entrance hall at the side, and on upstairs. There were two large, bright rooms opening into the hall, with a bath-room adjoining. The rent was very reasonable, and she said she could furnish meals. Aunt Zélie was forced to admit that her nephew's plan had a good deal to recommend it.
Nothing would do but they must go and tell Dora about it before they went home.
She was very much surprised to see them, and listened with eyes that grew bright as the plan was unfolded.
"Didn't I tell you it would be better than staying here?" Carl asked triumphantly.
"It sounds as if it would be perfect; how did you come to think of it?" Dora said gratefully.
She could hardly wait till Monday afternoon to go and see for herself. Mrs. Howard went with her then, and so did Bess and Louise, but they only sat on the window-sill and built castles while the others made calculations and discussed carpets and curtains.
"They are such pleasant rooms, so much more so than the one we have now," Dora said. "I think, and the doctor said so too, that sunshine is the best thing for Mamma. I believe I have thought of everything, and it won't cost much more than boarding at Mrs. West's. If it were only on the other side of the street I could see the Big Front Door."
Aunt Zélie offered to take charge of the cleaning and getting ready, so that her lessons need not be interrupted, and nothing remained but to gain her mother's consent to the plan.
Mrs. Warner made no objection to it when she heard that Mr. Hazeltine and Mrs. Howard thought it wise, but she did not show the interest Dora hoped for.
Once it was decided upon, things seemed almost to arrange themselves. All her young friends took an interest in Dora's moving, and Elsie, who doubted the propriety of living over a store,—for as yet "flats" had not been heard of in this part of the country,—nevertheless confided to Bess that she was going to make her a beautiful pincushion. This suggested an idea to Bess.
"Don't you think it would nice for each of us to give Dora something for her housekeeping?" she asked at the dinner table that evening.
Uncle William and Aunt Marcia were there, and the Warners had just been spoken of. "A good suggestion," said the first-named; "suppose we do."
"I don't approve of this move at all," Mrs. Hazeltine announced; "Mrs. Warner must have lost her mind to consent."
"It is a great deal nicer than you imagine, Aunt Marcia," urged Bess.
"Dora doesn't care about being fashionable, and you can have more fun if you don't," observed Louise.
"You seem to care for nothing but fun," said her aunt, with dignity.
"At any rate we all admire Dora's energy and good sense, and would like to do something to help her," said Mr. Frank Hazeltine.
So they put their heads together and made their plans.
It was arranged that Mrs. Warner should come to her new quarters on Saturday morning, and Dora lingered long on Friday afternoon putting a few last touches here and there, arranging her little sideboard with some pretty glass and china, relics of her mother's early housekeeping, till everything was in dainty order.
"I do hope Mamma will think it pleasant," she said to Louise, who was helping.
"She will, I'm sure," Louise answered, looking around the room, which was indeed very attractive with the afternoon sunshine streaming in through the windows draped in their pretty muslin curtains.
"Everything is so sweet and cosey I almost envy you," she added, dusting the top of the clock with a tiny feather duster.
"Louise Hazeltine, how could you envy anybody?" Dora exclaimed. "There are two things I ought to have, and mean to sometime," she went on, "and they are some plants and a canary."
Louise looked out of the window to hide a smile.
One more peep had to be taken at the other room, where two snowy beds looked restful and inviting; then she locked the doors, leaving the key with Mrs. Smith that the fires might be made in the morning.
"I hope you will like it, Mamma," were her last words that night and her first thought next morning.
Mr. Hazeltine sent his carriage for Mrs. Warner, and short as the drive was it seemed tiresomely long to Dora.
"I am glad it is pleasant so that the sunshine will be in your windows; it is always there by eleven o'clock," she said.
Mrs. Smith was at the door to welcome them, with her small son Tommy to carry up any bundles.
"I declare," she remarked to her husband, "it doesn't look right for a woman that has a daughter like Miss Dora to be so terrible down-hearted."
In her eagerness to see how her mother was pleased, Dora hardly noticed anything herself when she opened the door.
A more hopelessly gloomy person than Mrs. Warner could not have failed to be impressed with the sweet, cheerful comfort which pervaded the room. The sunshine from the south windows lay in two great patches on the quiet carpet, and glistened in a corner of something that did not look quite familiar; the fire burned briskly, doing its best to add to the cheeriness.
"My dear daughter, how could you do all this?" she asked, her face brightening.
"Do you like it? I am so glad!" Then Dora began to look about in some bewilderment; something had certainly happened to the room since yesterday. In the corner by the fireplace was the dearest mahogany desk, and on it a card which read, "For a brave little girl, from Uncle William." Glancing up, her eyes rested on the sweet face of a Madonna, which she guessed at once came from Aunt Zélie.
"How good they are to me!'" she exclaimed, feeling almost like crying; but just then the canary in the window burst into a song, thus calling attention to himself and to the pot of ivy from Miss Brown.
It was a morning of surprises. While her mother sat in her easy-chair, with a more cheerful face than she had worn for years, Dora went about finding every now and then something new. There were hyacinths from Helen and Carie, Elsie's pincushion on the bureau, a table cover from Constance, and on the sideboard a cunning teapot, with this touching verse tied on the handle:
This effusion did not need Carl's initials to tell her where it came from. The last thing to be discovered was a beautiful chair to match the desk, from Carl's father.
Late in the afternoon a happy face looked in on Aunt Zélie, and a merry voice exclaimed, "It is going to be a success; and to-day has been better than Christmas!"
Dora's housekeeping seemed to thrive from the first. Her mother grew more cheerful and a little stronger, and she herself was rosy and happy. It was so pleasant to come home every day after school and find Fanny, their small maid, who came each morning and stayed till after lunch, setting their own little table. And then, what a pleasure to study at her beautiful desk!
"It is lovely, if it is over a confectionery, isn't it, Mamma?" she would say.
It was her great pleasure to keep this small domain in the daintiest order, and Saturday morning was sure to find her busy with her duster. On this particular morning, as she was shaking it out of the window, she saw Bess and Louise coming in.
"If you aren't busy, Dora, we want to talk to you about something." began the last-named person before she was fairly in the room.
"I am just through, and delighted to see you," she said hospitably.
"It is about the afghan," Bess explained. "We can finish it easily this afternoon, and the twentieth is Uncle William's birthday; don't you think it would be best to give it to him then?"
"We asked the boys about the party and they are in favor of it, and Aunt Zélie says we can have it. Now what kind of a party shall it be? We want suggestions," said Louise, folding her hands in her lap, and leaning back as if she had only to ask.
"Why not have a surprise party?—ask him to dinner as if it were nothing special, you know."
"The very thing!" they both exclaimed.
"Why didn't we think of surprising the dear old duck, who is always surprising us?" Louise added.
Bess shook her head at her sister. "That is not a becoming way in which to speak of your uncle. But that is a good idea, Dora; you are a very bright girl."
"Thank you, I am glad I am satisfactory. Do you need any more suggestions?"
"It must be a real party; we must trim the house and have Carl present the slumber robe; and do you think we could have a cake with candles? Forty-eight would be a good many."
"Four dozen," said Dora, as Louise paused for breath. "Why don't you leave the decorations to the boys? We have done our share in making the afghan."
"Another brilliant idea. We will," said Bess.
They discussed it again over their work that afternoon, and Constance and Elsie gave their entire approval to the plan.
A party at the Hazeltines' was always welcome, and the combination of circumstances made this particularly pleasant to anticipate.
Their fingers flew as they talked, and by five o'clock the last stitch was taken, and the work of nearly six months finished.
After surveying it fondly on all sides and trying its effect on Miss Brown's sofa, it was reluctantly wrapped in a sheet and put away till the all-important day.
It was hard to do justice to lessons the next week, with such interesting preparations to be made. Aunt Zélie had shaken her head over parties during the school term, but gave in to the plan that this was a very special occasion. They couldn't help the fact that Uncle William's birthday came in March.
Everything was ready in good time, Mr. Hazeltine was invited to dinner, and a hint was given to his wife.
At seven o'clock on Thursday evening most of the party had assembled, and the Hazeltine house was pervaded by an air of expectancy.
In the place of honor in the long drawing-room sat Miss Brown, who could not resist the united urging of Aunt Zélie and the girls.
"We arranged this corner just for you," said Bess, coming to greet her as soon as she was seated. "We knew you would look like a picture in it."
Miss Brown laughed and said that would be a new sensation, as she had never before been a picture.
"Oh, yes, you have been, but perhaps you didn't know it!" said Louise. "This time you are to know it, and every one is to admire you, for you are part of our decorations; I am glad you wore that lovely shawl."
She made a picture, truly, with her bright eyes and snowy hair against the crimson velvet of the chair, a delicate white lace shawl over her dark dress, and a copper lamp with a deep rose-colored shade throwing a soft radiance about her.
"And here is somebody to keep you company," said Bess, bringing Aunt Zélie to sit beside her.
Mrs. Howard's eyes followed lovingly her two pretty nieces as they danced away to join the group around the afghan.
"I wonder," said Miss Brown, watching them, "what difference it would have made in me if I had had such a home when I was a child."
"It is a beautiful and helpful thing to have a happy childhood to look back upon," answered their aunt. "When I meet discontented, cynical people I feel sure that no sweet true child-life lies behind them. I want my boys and girls to be able to say that their happiest times have been at home. Here comes our housekeeper."
There was certainly a housewifely air about Dora's plump little figure in her simple white dress as she came to speak to Miss Brown and get Aunt Zélie to pin on her flowers.
"Everybody is here but Ikey and Jim," announced Louise, whose blue ribbons were fluttering from one end of the house to the other.
"Here they are!" called Carl from the window, "and someone else; it must be Uncle William!"
Great excitement prevailed till the door opened and it proved to be Mr. Caruth.
"I had forgotten you were invited, but I am very glad to see you," Louise said, advancing to meet him.
"Then I should not have been missed if I had not come?" he said, shaking hands with Mrs. Howard.
"Oh, I had only forgotten for a minute, because I have so much on my mind!" she explained, laughing. "Why, Jim, what lovely flowers! Ikey, where is your buttonhole bouquet that I took so much trouble to make?"
Ikey stared blankly at his undecorated coat. "Oh! I forgot it. I put it in the refrigerator; I'll go and get it."
"In the refrigerator?" repeated the girls with one voice. "Just like a boy!"
"Well, why not? That is where you put things to keep;" and Ikey departed to find his posies, while Jim divided his roses between Louise and Aunt Zélie.
In three minutes Ikey came flying back quite breathless, announcing that Uncle William was at the gate.
The festive air which reigned inside found its way out through various cracks and crevices, causing Mr. Hazeltine to remark that the house looked unusually brilliant.
The truth did not dawn upon him till he stood in the parlor floor before a semicircle of bright faces, all very full of the fun of the occasion.
Across the top of the large mirror he saw "Welcome," in letters of evergreen, and a chorus of "Many happy returns!" greeted him.
"Bless me! what does this mean? Is it possible that it is my birthday?" he exclaimed.
"Yes, and it's a s'prise party; aren't you s'prised?" demanded Carie, unable to keep quiet any longer.
"Surprised? I should say so! I shall have to have forty-eight kisses from somebody."
Carie immediately volunteered her share, and altogether it is probable that he really received more than he was entitled to.
He made his way to Miss Brown's corner after a while, and when the excitement subsided a little Carl stepped forward and said in an extremely lawyer-like manner: "I have the honor to be chosen spokesman this evening, to welcome you and wish you many happy returns of the day in the name of the members of the Order of the Big Front Door, who in testimony of their affection for you tender you this reception. I am also requested to present to you, in behalf of the Merry Knitters, this slumber robe, the work of their own fair fingers, which they offer as a slight token of their appreciation of all your kindness to them. May your dreams be sweet!"
Aleck and Ikey advanced and threw the slumber robe over a chair before the astonished Uncle William.
For it moment it quite took his breath away. He was touched and gratified that the girls should have done so much work for him, and found it necessary to clear his throat vigorously before he replied to Carl's graceful effort.
"I am sure I can truthfully say that only once before in my life have I been so completely surprised. I thank you all most heartily for remembering an old fellow like me, and I particularly thank the M.Ks. for their beautiful gift. I shall prize it as one of my greatest treasures. I also thank Miss Brown for coming to my party; I consider it a great honor. As I had not the same opportunity as my nephew for preparing a speech I shall not say any more except to thank you all again."
He sat down amid great applause.
The slumber robe became for a while the centre of attraction. It was as great a surprise to Aunt Marcia as to her husband, and she admired it extremely, praising the young needlewomen warmly.
"Mr. Caruth and I feel envious, and want to know what you have done that so much work should be bestowed on you?" said Mr. Frank Hazeltine, joining the group around it.
"You see, Father, he is a sort of public benefactor; he gets up wonder balls and takes us to the circus, so he has to be publicly rewarded," Louise explained gayly.
"I am sure I was Santa Claus once," said Mr. Caruth.
Supper was announced presently, and what a birthday supper it was! Mandy and Sukey had done their best for Mr. William, and their best was not to be sniffed at. Aunt Zélie contributed menu cards, each with a flower and a quotation on it.
Dora thought hers the prettiest of all. On it were a thistle and a wild rose, and the lines were:
"It was written by a poet for his own little daughter Dora," said Mrs. Howard.
Aleck had:
"Cousin Zélie thinks I am lazy," he said, laughing.
"Mine is better than Dora's, and I know where it came from, and she has not an idea," said Carl. His lines were:
"I don't care, for I can find out, and that is half the fun," Dora replied, comparing hers with Louise's, which had lilies of the valley on it, and these lines: