“I am twice twelve, and not entirely cured yet; but I try, and don’t mean to wear blue spectacles if I can help it,” answered the lady, laughing so blithely that Marjorie was sure she would not have to try much longer.  “Birthdays were made for presents, and I should like to give you one.  Would it please you to have this little picture?” she added, lifting it out of the book.

“Truly my own?  Oh, yes, indeed!” cried Marjorie, coloring with pleasure, for she had never owned so beautiful a thing before.

“Then you shall have it, dear.  Hang it where you can see it often, and when you look, remember that it is the sunny side of home, and help to keep it so.”

Marjorie had nothing but a kiss to offer by way of thanks, as the lovely sketch was put into her hand; but the giver seemed quite satisfied, for it was a very grateful little kiss.  Then the child took up her basket and went away, not dancing and singing now, but slowly and silently; for this gift made her thoughtful as well as glad.  As she climbed the wall, she looked back to nod good-by to the pretty lady; but the meadow was empty, and all she saw was the grass blowing in the wind.

“Now, deary, run out and play, for birthdays come but once a year, and we must make them as merry as we can,” said granny, as she settled herself for her afternoon nap, when the Saturday cleaning was all done, and the little house as neat as wax.

So Marjorie put on a white apron in honor of the occasion, and, taking Kitty in her arms, went out to enjoy herself.  Three swings on the gate seemed to be a good way of beginning the festivities; but she only got two, for when the gate creaked back the second time, it stayed shut, and Marjorie hung over the pickets, arrested by the sound of music.

“It’s soldiers,” she said, as the fife and drum drew nearer, and flags were seen waving over the barberry-bushes at the corner.

“No; it’s a picnic,” she added in a moment; for she saw hats with wreaths about them bobbing up and down, as a gayly-trimmed hay-cart full of children came rumbling down the lane.

“What a nice time they are going to have!” thought Marjorie, sadly contrasting that merry-making with the quiet party she was having all by herself.

Suddenly her face shone, and Kitty was waved over her head like a banner, as she flew out of the gate, crying, rapturously,—­

“It’s Billy! and I know he’s come for me!”

It certainly was Billy, proudly driving the old horse, and beaming at his little friend from the bower of flags and chestnut-boughs, where he sat in state, with a crown of daisies on his sailor-hat and a spray of blooming sweetbrier in his hand.  Waving his rustic sceptre, he led off the shout of “Happy birthday, Marjorie!” which was set up as the wagon stopped at the gate, and the green boughs suddenly blossomed with familiar faces, all smiling on the little damsel, who stood in the lane quite overpowered with delight.