Jackie cut a high caper of delight as he spoke, in spite of its being Sunday and Fraulein quite near. His pleasure in anything was always doubled if Mary could share it. That was so nice of Jackie. It made it all the more distressing at that moment to remember that she could give him no present to-morrow, besides the mortification of appearing mean and stingy to the other children. She began to think that it would be almost better to give up going to his birthday party. But what excuse could she make? Then another idea came to her. Was there anything among her own possessions that he would like to have? She ran them over in her mind. Books? Jackie hated books; it was only under strong pressure that he would ever open one, and she could not pretend to be ignorant of this. If only Jackie were a girl! Then she could give him her work-box, which was nearly new, or a doll, or a set of tea-things, but it was no use to think of that. Still pondering the matter she went upstairs into her own little room, and the moment she entered her eye fell on the little clog standing in the middle of the mantel-piece. The very thing! Jackie had often and often admired it, and though everyone would know that she had not spent any money in getting it, still it would be much much better than having nothing at all to give. She took it off the mantel-piece and polished it up with her pocket-handkerchief. Dear little clog, she would be sorry to part with it, and it would leave a great gap among the other ornaments, but still it must go—after all it would not go far, only to the White House. Thinking thus, and rubbing it meanwhile, she noticed for the first time that there were two letters faintly scratched on the wooden sole, “BM.” Who was BM? “Perhaps that’s my name,” she thought; “but I don’t want to know it if it is. I’d rather be Mary Vallance.” And then the dark faces of Perrin and Seraminta came before her and she frowned. How hateful it was to belong to them! She, Mary Vallance, who had always been so proud and delicate in her ways, so vain of her white skin, and so sure, only the other day, that her people were rich and great. That was all over now; even Rice could not call her “Tossy” any more.
It was in a very humble and downcast spirit that she paid a farewell visit to the fowls on Monday afternoon, before starting for the White House. The white bantams had become very tame, and when they pecked the corn out of her hand it was almost too much to bear. It was the last time she should feed them! Angry tears filled her eyes as she thought how they would be stolen that night; she longed to punish the gypsy people, and yet she was powerless in their hands, and must even help them in their wickedness. Poor Mary! She was very unhappy, and surprised that nothing happened to prevent it. It seemed so hard and cruel. Nevertheless, every step she took that afternoon towards the White House was bringing her nearer to help and comfort, though she did not know it.
Jackie came running to meet her in the hall, arrayed in his best suit and best manners.
“Come along into the school-room,” he said, “and see the presents.”
While he was showing them to her, two little heads looked in at the open window from the garden. They were Patrick and Jennie.
“We’ve guessed what your present is, Mary,” they both cried at once.
The twins were such tiresome children! If there was an uncomfortable thing to say, they always said it.
“I’m sure you haven’t,” answered Mary sharply.
“It comes from Dorminster,” said Patrick grinning.
“And it begins with S,” added Jennie.