"No, indeed," said little Ben; "I guess I can churn to get my Grandmother some birthday butter," and he churned with a will, till the dasher seemed to say to him:
Bum, bum,
Butter's come.
Mother looked in the churn and, sure enough, the flakes of golden butter were floating on the milk.
"Hurrah!" cried little Ben. "Hurrah!" cried Cousin Pen and Brother Fred, and they hurried into the kitchen to watch Mother as she gathered the butter, and worked it, and salted it, and patted it into a very fine roll. When she had done that she printed a star on top of the roll, and the butter was ready to take to Grandmother.
"You must make Grandmother guess what it is," said Mother as she put the butter into a nice little basket and covered it with a white napkin.
"All right," said the children; so when they got to Grandmother's house they called, "Grandmother, Grandmother, guess what we have brought you for a birthday present."
"It is yellow as gold," said Brother Fred.
"It's sweet as clover," said Cousin Pen.
"We churned it ourselves," said little Ben; and Grandmother guessed what it was with her very first guess.
"It is just what I wanted," she said, and she kissed them every one. She had been thinking about them, too, all the long day, and she had baked a beautiful cake for their tea.