Marjorie sighed.  What could she do with this intractable boy?  And, she almost knew that King would feel the same way.  Perhaps, if she could win Tom over to her way of thinking, King might be more easily influenced.

“Tom,” she began, “don’t you like me?”

“Yes, I do.  You’re the squarest girl I ever knew.”

“Then, don’t you think you might do this much for me?”

“What much?”

“Why, just let Hester be Queen for a while.”

“No, I don’t.  That wouldn’t be any favor to you.”

“Yes, it would.  If I ask you, and you refuse, I’ll think you’re real unkind.  And yet you say you like me!”

Marjorie had struck a right chord in the boy’s heart.  He didn’t want Hester for Queen, but still less did he want to refuse Midget her earnest request.

“Oh, pshaw!” he said, digging his toe in the sand; “if you put it that way, I’ll have to say yes.  Don’t put it that way, Midget.”

“Yes, I will put it that way!  And if you’re my friend, you’ll say yes, yourself, and then you’ll help me to make the other boys say yes.  Will you?”

“Yes, I s’pose so,” said Tom, looking a little dubious.

CHAPTER XIII

THIRTEEN!

Marjorie’s thirteenth birthday dawned bright and clear.

Her opening eyes rested on some strange thing sticking up at the foot of her bed, but a fully-awakened glance proved it to be a big No. 13, painted on a square of white pasteboard, and decorated with painted four-leaved clovers.

The motto “Good Luck” was traced in ornamental letters, and the whole was in a narrow wood frame.

“That’s my birthday greeting from Cousin Jack and Cousin Ethel!” Marjorie said to herself; “I recognize her lovely painting, and it’s just like them, anyway.  I’ll hang that on my bedroom wall, till I’m as old as Methusaleh.”

“Happy Birthday, darling!” said her mother, coming in, and sitting on the side of the bed; “many happy returns of the day.”

“Oh, dearie Mother!  I’m so glad I’ve got you! and I’m so glad you’re really my very own mother!  Give me thirteen kisses, please, ma’am!”

“Merry Birthday, Midget!” called her father, through the crack of the door.  “You two had better stop that love-feast and get down to breakfast!”

So Marjorie sprang up, and made haste with her bathing and dressing, so that in less than half an hour she was dancing downstairs to begin her Lucky Birthday.  Her presents were heaped round her plate, and the parcels were so enticing in appearance, that she could scarcely eat for impatience.

“Breakfast first,” decreed her father, “or I fear you’ll become so excited you’ll never eat at all.”

So Marjorie contented herself with pinching and punching the bundles, while she ate peaches and cream and cereal.

“Oh, what is in this squnchy one?” she cried, feeling of a loosely done-up parcel.  “It smells so sweet, and it crackles like silk!”