“Well, I’m going to take Mother’s old flower-stand, the kind with shelves, you know. She doesn’t use it now, and she says I may have it. And I’m just going to set it on a flat platform with wheels; Flip says he’ll make me one; and then just cram it all over with flowers. That’s all.”
“It will be lovely!” declared Delight; “there’s nothing so pretty as flowers.”
Under Miss Hart’s wise tuition, and because she was truly trying to be less selfish, Delight was becoming a veritable little sunbeam. Everybody liked her, and as she tried to be sweet and helpful, she found it was not difficult, after all.
And now, in all this business of fancy fixings and decorations, Delight’s nimble fingers and good taste were of great assistance.
Marjorie was working away at her “birthday cake.” It was a large pasteboard bandbox, round, of course, and low. She was covering it with white crêpe paper, and making tiny festoons of the paper round the edge to look like fancy icing.
On top she pasted gilt letters, which read, “To Miss Larkin, from the Jinks Club.” Inside were to be the presents, of course.
“But I don’t want you other Jinksies to give presents to Miss Larkin,” said Marjorie. “There’s no reason why you should, you know. Just us Maynards will give the presents; and we’re not going to give much.”
“Oh, pooh,” said Flip; “let us chip in, too; it won’t hurt us to give some little thing. Mother’ll get a handkerchief or something for me to give, I know.”
“Yes, let us,” said Delight. “In fact, my mother spoke of it herself. She said she’d get a little book for me to give.”
“Of course, I’ll give something, too,” said Dorothy Adams. “I’d like to. And I think it would be nice if we gave things to each other, too. It would fill up the pie—cake, I mean.”