“Maybe you might get sick in earnest,” suggested Walter.  “I’m going to get up anyhow,” and he tumbled out upon the floor, “for it’s too hot to lie in bed.  Hark! there’s Pomp coming up the stairs to call us now.  Why, what’s all that, Pomp?” as the servant rapped, then pushing open the door, handed in a number of brown paper parcels.

“Dunno, Mars Wal,” replied the man grinning from ear to ear; “somethin’ from Ion, an de rest’s down stairs; one for each ob you.”

“One what?” queried Dick, starting up and with one bound placing himself at Walter’s side.

“Birthday present, sahs.  Wish you many happy returns, Mars Wal and Mars Dick, an’ hope you’ll neber wear no mo’ Ku Klux doins.”

But the lads were too busily engaged in opening the parcels and examining their contents, to hear or heed his words.

“Two riding whips—­splendid ones—­and four books!” exclaimed Walter; “and here’s a note.”

“Here let me read it,” said Dick.  “I declare, Wal, I’m positively ashamed to have them send me anything after the way I’ve behaved.”

“I too.  But what do they say?”

“It’s from Travilla and Cousin Elsie,” said Dick turning to the signature.  “I’ll read it out.”

He did so.  It was very kind and pleasant, made no allusion to their wrong doing, but congratulated them on the return of the day, begged their acceptance of the accompanying gifts, stating from whom each came, the largest a joint present from themselves; and closed with an invitation to spend the day at Ion.

“I’m more ashamed than ever, aren’t you, Wal?” Dick said, his face flushing hotly as he laid the note down.

“Yes, never felt so mean in my life.  To think of that little Ed sending us these splendid whips, and the little girls these pretty books.  I ’most wish they hadn’t.”

“But where’s ‘the larger gift’ they say is ’a joint present from themselves’?”

“Oh that must be what Pomp called the rest left down stairs.  Come, let’s hurry and get down there to see what it is.”

Toilet duties were attended to in hot haste and in a wonderfully short time the two were on the front veranda in eager quest of the mysterious present.

Each boyish heart gave a wild bound of delight as their eyes fell upon a group in the avenue, just before the entrance;—­two beautiful ponies, ready saddled and bridled, in charge of an Ion servant; old Mr. Dinsmore, Calhoun and Arthur standing near examining and commenting upon them with evident admiration.

“O, what beauties!” cried Dick, bounding into the midst of the group.  “Whose are they, Uncle Joe?”

“Well, sah,” answered the old negro, pulling off his hat and bowing first to one, then to the other, “dey’s sent heyah, by Massa Travilla and Miss Elsie, for two boys ‘bout de size o’ you, dat don’ neber mean to frighten young chillen no mo’.”

The lads hung their heads in silence, the blush of shame on their cheeks.