“Midget, your curiosity will some day get you into trouble.  I prefer to do the work in the meadow.  Perhaps it is sewing, and I shall take my work-basket and sit under the big maple-trees to sew.”

Marjorie laughed to think of Uncle Steve sewing, but was really burning with curiosity to know what he was going to do.

However, she had given her word, and she conscientiously kept it.  Not once during those intervening days did she so much as look toward the south meadow, though if she had done so she would not have been able to discover what her birthday surprise was to be.

Every day she discussed the subject with Molly and Stella, and each formed an opinion.  Stella thought it was a new flower garden that Uncle Steve was making for Midge; Molly thought he was having a swing put up, because she had seen Carter carrying some long timbers over that way.  But the girls considered themselves bound by Mopsy’s promise to her uncle, and conscientiously refrained from going down to the meadow to investigate.

Grandma, of course, was in the secret, and as a result she often shut herself into her own room, telling Marjorie she must not come in.  She would stay there for hours at a time, and Mopsy felt sure she was sewing on something connected with the birthday surprise, as indeed she was.

As the day came nearer, all the members of the household seemed to be in a state of great excitement.  Carter was running about, bringing mysterious-looking parcels from the express office, and taking them to the barn to unpack them.

Eliza was concocting delicious-looking creams and jellies, but they, Marjorie knew, were for the birthday feast, which would, of course, be a hilarious festival, although not a party.

At last Thursday morning came, and Marjorie awoke bright and early; and very soon, arrayed in a fresh, pink gingham frock, went dancing downstairs.

So early was she that the others had not yet come down, and she went out into the kitchen to talk to Eliza.

“Oh, me!” she sighed.  “I wish Uncle Steve would hurry.  It just seems as if I couldn’t wait any longer to know what my birthday surprise is going to be.  Do you know, Eliza?”

“Faix, an’ I do, Miss Midge, an’ it’s a foine gift yer uncle has for ye!”

“Don’t tell me, Eliza, because Uncle Steve said I mustn’t ask questions about it; but do you think I’ll like it?”

“‘Like it,’ is it?  ‘Deed an’ you will thin!  Ye’ll go crazy as a loonytic wid joy and delight!  An’ I’m thinkin’ you and Miss Molly will be after breaking your necks in it, but the little lady Stella,—­I’m feared she won’t get in it at all, at all; she’ll be too sheared.”

“Then it is a swing,” exclaimed Midget, and she felt a little disappointment, for though a swing was lovely to have, yet she had one at home, so it was no especial novelty; and, too, she hadn’t thought Uncle Steve would make such a fuss about having a swing built.