CHAPTER XIISIX BROWN MICE
Itwas Sally’s birthday and she was six years old.
Four long weeks ago she and Mother had gone into the city and had bought Sally’s little Red Ridinghood cape, a present from Aunt Sarah Waters.
‘My early birthday present,’ Sally called it, and wore it every time a cape was needed and often, too, when it was not.
This birthday morning Sally was out of bed early. She had been awake a long, long time, as much as five minutes, perhaps, watching the sun make a rosy pattern on her wall. But now she couldn’t wait any longer for the presents that she felt sure were hidden in Mother’s closet or dresser drawer.
She stopped long enough to put on her red cape over her nightgown and then crept into Mother’s room across the hall.
Sally had meant to waken Mother and Father with a hug, a birthday hug. But there on Mother’s table were the presents, all spread out in a row, and Sally simply couldn’t stop to hug until she had untied the boxes and bundles that she knew were meant for her.
Father and Mother, too, it seemed, were awake early like Sally, and were quite as interested as she in finding out what her presents might be.
There was a tea-set with pink flowers, the pinkest kind of pink flowers, too.
‘Alice will like that,’ said Sally in great satisfaction.
There was a wash-tub and scrubbing-board and teeny, weeny, wooden clothes-pins, and actually a little clothes-line, so that you wouldn’t have to use a bit of string.
There was a bag of marbles, every color, red and blue and green and purple, all striped and spotted, as gay as you please.
‘I won’t have to play with Andy’s marblesany more,’ said Sally, shaking the bag and enjoying the cheerful rattle, ‘I have my own marbles now.’
There were two bright picture books, filled with pictures.
And, oh! best of all, a bathtub just big enough to hold Nancy Lee, a bathtub that you could really fill with water and in which you could really bathe the stout and wooden Nancy Lee.
‘This is the best birthday I have ever had,’ said Sally, hopping from one end to the other of Mother’s room.
Even after breakfast Sally couldn’t sit still a moment. She seemed to be all over the house at once, and no matter where Mother went, there was Sally, too, laughing and talking and standing in the way.
There was to be a birthday party that afternoon and Mother was as busy as could be.
‘Now, Sally,’ said she at last, ‘you must go up to the attic and dress your dolls for the party.Straighten the attic, too. It ought to be as neat as a pin.’
Half-way up the attic stairs Sally turned and came down again. Mother was in the kitchen and Sally followed her there.
‘My cake!’ said Sally. ‘I forgot it. Who is going to make my birthday cake, Mother? Are you?’
‘No,’ answered Mother, who was slicing bread very thin, ‘Aunt Bee is going to make your cake.’
‘Then I must go over and help her,’ said Sally. ‘I helped her before, and the cake was good.’
‘No, indeed,’ replied Mother hastily. ‘Aunt Bee won’t need your help this morning. And you really must straighten the attic, Sally. I am ashamed of the way it looks.’
‘I will, then,’ said Sally, starting upstairs. ‘But what are you making, Mother?’
‘Sandwiches,’ replied Mother. ‘Yes, for the party. Run, Sally, I think I hear Paulina calling you.’
Sally laughed. She knew that was Mother’s way of telling her to go.
So, carrying the bathtub, she went up to the attic and told her children all about her presents and promised a sight of them before long.
She put Nancy Lee in the bathtub and bathed her all over, a dry bath this morning because Sally was in a hurry. She took Dora and Nora and Flora out of their shoe-box and sat them on the sofa in a row, just to give them a change of scene, as it were.
She straightened the doll-house and tidied all her toys.
Then with two sashes, kindly lent by Paulina, she went in search of Tippy and Buff.
Buff, as usual, sat on the window-sill in the sun. He allowed Sally to tie the blue sash round his neck in a birthday bow. But the moment she had finished he clawed it off, and when she tried again, he ran up the black-cherry tree where Sally couldn’t reach him, and only blinked his eyes at her when she called him to come down.
Tippy was more agreeable. He permitted Sally to fasten a gay red bow on his collar, and barked and jumped about as if he really liked it.
‘Now, Buff, look at Tip,’ said Sally reproachfully. ‘But you shan’t have the blue ribbon now, not if you cry for it.’
And Sally went upstairs to tie round Snow White’s plump neck the blue sash, that streamed out finely in the wind and gave a holiday look to the whole house.
Soon it was time for the party, and in came Andy and Alice, gay and smiling Andy with his ball and Alice with jolly Jack Tar.
They bounced their balls, they ran races in the garden. They looked at the new picture books and played with the marbles and the tea-set.
Then Mother called them, and there stood a little table, all set for three, with Aunt Bee’s tea-set that she had when she was a little girl, and a cake, a birthday cake, right in the middle of the table.
It was a white cake, white as snow, and on it were not candles—Sally had had candles last year—but mice, six chocolate mice, with tiny pointed chocolate ears, white sugar eyes, and, actually, long pointed chocolate tails. Never was there such a birthday surprise! Who but Mother and Aunt Bee would have thought of such a thing and would have searched the big city over until the mice were found!
There were sandwiches and milk, all you could eat and drink, but of course the cake was the real party. Mother cut it, and on top of Sally’s piece there sat a mouse, and one on Alice’s and on Andy’s piece, too.
‘There are three mice left,’ said Sally. ‘One for Mother, one for Aunt Bee, and one for Father. But what will Uncle Paul do?’
‘He won’t mind,’ answered Aunt Bee. ‘He may have half of mine.’
The cake was soon gone, every crumb, but it seemed a pity to eat the mice.
‘They are so pretty,’ said Alice.
‘I want to show mine to Mother,’ said Andy.
‘Let us eat the tails and save the mice,’ suggested Sally.
But the tails were so good that the mice soon followed them. And then the party went out to swing until it was time to go home.
It was the end of summer, and the next day both Alice and Andy were going home. It was their last play together.
When Mrs. Thomas called for Andy, Mrs. Burr came from over the way for Alice, and every one said good-bye over and over again.
Alice and Andy were both coming back next summer, but Sally’s face was sober as, standing between Mother and Aunt Bee, she waved good-bye until Andy was round the corner and Alice indoors over the way.
‘They are both coming back next year, Sally,’ said Mother, cheerfully. ‘Remember that.’
‘But it is a long time to wait,’ answered Sally,shaking her head, ‘and I don’t know what I shall do without them.’
‘You have Mother and Father,’ suggested Aunt Bee.
‘And you and Uncle Paul,’ answered Sally quickly, slipping one hand into Aunt Bee’s and with the other seizing Mother’s hand. ‘I love Andy and Alice, but I love Mother and Father and you and Uncle Paul more. Yes, those are the very ones that I love best,’ said little Sally Waters.
THE END