“I don’t know which they would choose to spare, but Amy will be the one to go.  She was born under a fortunate star, and the rest will help to send her.”

“I’d like Frances myself.”

“Frances is the stay-at-home daughter.  She cannot be spared.  It will be Amy, and I will let Miriam go with you, and Eva, who is the youngest, can wait for her turn some other day.”

“Is that Burden’s cart going down the lane?” inquired Grace, looking out of the window.  “It’s queer how many errands Mr. Burden’s had here lately.  I believe he’s been investing in another cart, or else he has painted the old one.  Business must be brisk.  There come papa, and Dr. Raeburn with him.  Why, mother, all the Raeburns are coming!  If there is to be company, I might have been told.”

“So might I,” said Mrs. Wainwright, with spirit.  “Hurry, Grace, bring me some cologne and water to wash my face and hands, and give me my rose-pink wrapper.  Turn the key in the door, dearie.  An invalid should never be seen except looking her best.  You can slip away and get into a tea gown before you meet them, if they are coming to supper.  Whose birthday is it?  This seems to be a surprise party.”

“Why, mamma—­it’s my birthday; but you don’t think there’s anything on foot that I don’t know of—­do you, dearest?”

“I wouldn’t like to say what I think, my pet.  There, the coast is clear.  Run away and change your gown.  Whoever wished to see me now may do so.  The queen is ready to give audience.  Just wheel my chair a little to the left, so that I can catch the last of that soft pink after-glow.”

“And were you really entirely unprepared, Grace,” said the girls later, “and didn’t you ever for a single moment notice anything whatsoever we were doing?”

“Never for one instant.  I missed my Tennyson and my French Bible, but thought Eva had borrowed them, and in my wildest imagination I never dreamed you would furnish a lovely big room at the top of the house all for me, my own lone self.  It doesn’t seem right for me to accept it.”

“Ah, but it is quite right!” said her father, tenderly, “and here is something else—­a little birthday check from me to my daughter.  Since you came home and set me on my feet I’ve prospered as never before.  Eva has collected ever so many of my bills, and I’ve sold a corner of the meadow for a good round sum, a corner that never seemed to me to be worth anything.  I need not stay always in your debt, financially, dear little woman.”

“But, papa.”

“But, Grace.”

“Your father is right, Grace,” said the sweet low tones of Mrs. Wainwright, even and firm.  “Through God’s goodness you have had the means and disposition to help him, but neither of us ever intended to rest our weight always on your shoulders.  You needn’t work so hard hereafter, unless you wish, to.”

“Thank you, dear papa,” said Grace.  “I shall work just as hard, because I love to work, and because I am thus returning to the world some part of what I owe it; and next year, who knows, I may be able to pay Eva’s bills at Miss L——­’s.”