That night, when supper was over, Nimpo sat down with the family by the table, which held one candle that dimly lighted the room, to finish a book she was reading.  Not that the kitchen was the only room in the house.  Mrs. Primkins had plenty of rooms, but they were too choice for every-day use.  They were always tightly closed, with green paper shades down, lest the blessed sunshine should get a peep at her gaudy red and green carpets, and put the least mellowing touch an their crude and rasping colors.  Nimpo thought of the best parlor with a sort of awe which she never felt toward any room in her mother’s house.

“Nimpo,” said Mrs. Primkins at last, when she had held back the news till Nimpo had finished her book, and was about to go upstairs, “wait a bit.  I got a letter from your Ma to-day.”

“Did you?” exclaimed Nimpo, alarmed.  “Oh! what is the matter?”

“Don’t fly into tificks!  Nothing is the matter,” said Mrs. Primkins.

“Is she coming home?” was the next eager question.

“No, not yet,” fell like cold water on her warm hopes.  “But she says to-morrow’s your birthday.”

“Why, so it is!” said Nimpo, reflecting.  “I never thought of it.”

“Wal, she thinks perhaps I’d best let you have a few girls to tea on that day, if ’t wont be too much of a chore for me,” went on Mrs. Primkins, deliberately.

Nimpo’s face was radiant.  “Oh, Mrs. Primkins, if you will!” But it fell again.  “But where could they be?”—­for trespassing on the dismal glories of the Primkins’ parlor had never entered her wildest dreams.

“I’ve thought of that,” said Mrs. Primkins, grimly.  “Of course, I couldn’t abide a pack of young ones tramping up my best parlor carpet, and I thought mebbe I’d put a few things up in the second story, and let you have ’em there.”

The second story was unfurnished.

“Oh, that will be splendid!” said Nimpo, eagerly.  “But,—­but,”—­she hesitated,—­“could they take tea here?” and she glanced around the kitchen, which was parlor, sitting-room, dining-room, and, in fact, almost the only really useful room in the house.  The front part Mrs. Primkins enjoyed as other people enjoy pictures, or other beautiful things,—­looking at, but not using them.

“No; I shall set the table in the back chamber, and let you play in the front chamber.  We can put some chairs in, and I’m sure a bare floor is more suitable for a pack of young ones.”

Mrs. Primkins always spoke of children as wild beasts, which must be endured, to be sure, but carefully looked after, like wolves or hyenas.

“Oh yes!  We wouldn’t be afraid of hurting that.  Oh, that’ll be splendid!” continued Nimpo, as the plan grew on her.  “I thank you so much, Mrs. Primkins!—­and we’ll be so careful not to hurt anything!”

“Humph!” said Mrs. Primkins, not thinking it necessary to tell her that her mother had sent money to cover the expense.  “You’re a master hand to promise.”