“Yes; but there are plenty more.  I say, may I?—­may I?” She eagerly caught hold of his coat.

“How long before your birthday?”

“Just a week from to-day.  Do, please, let me have a frolic!”

“Poor child! you look as if you needed some relaxation,” said he, looking down into her radiant face, with an expression of mock compassion.

“Upon my word, Uncle Guy, it is awfully dull here.  If it were not for Charon and Mazeppa I should be moped to death.  Do, pray, don’t look at me as if you were counting the hairs in my eyelashes.  Come, say yes:  do, Uncle Guy.”

“Take your hands off of my coat, and have as many parties as you like, provided you keep to your own side of the house.  Don’t come near my study with your Babel, and don’t allow your company to demolish my flowers.  Mind, not a soul is to enter the greenhouse.  The parlors are at your service, but I will not have a regiment of wildcats tearing up and down my greenhouse and flower garden; mind that.”  He stepped into his buggy.

“Bravo!  I have won my wager, and got the party too!  Hugh Cluis bet me a papier-mache writing-desk that you would not give me a party.  When I send his invitation I will write on the envelope ’the writing-desk is also expected.’  Hey, shadow, where did you creep from?” She fixed her merry eyes on Beulah, who just then appeared on the terrace.  Dr. Hartwell leaned from the buggy, and looked earnestly at the quiet little figure.

“Do you want anything, Beulah?”

“No, sir; I thought you had gone.  May I open the gate for you?”

“Certainly, if you wish to do something for me.”  His pale features relaxed, and his whole face lighted up, like a sun-flushed cloud.

Beulah walked down the avenue, lined on either side with venerable poplars and cedars, and opened the large gate leading into the city.  He checked his horse, and said: 

“Thank you, my child.  Now, how are you going to spend the day?  Remember you commence with school duties next week; so make the best of your holiday.”

“I have enough to occupy me to-day.  Good-by, sir.”

“Good-by, for an hour or so.”  He smiled kindly and drove on, while she walked slowly back to the house, wondering why smiles were such rare things in this world, when they cost so little, and yet are so very valuable to mourning hearts.  Pauline sat on the steps with an open book in her hand.  She looked up as Beulah approached, and exclaimed gayly: 

“Aren’t you glad I am to have my birthday frolic?”

“Yes; I am glad on your account,” answered Beulah gravely.

“Can you dance all the fancy dances?  I don’t like any so well as the mazourka.”

“I do not dance at all.”

“Don’t dance!  Why, I have danced ever since I was big enough to crawl!  What have you been doing all your life, that you don’t know how to dance?”

“My feet have had other work to do,” replied her companion; and, as the recollections of her early childhood flitted before her, the brow darkened.