They had plenty of candle-holders left from Christmas trees, and the next question was, how many they should put on the cake.
“Put ’em all on,” said Flip, without hesitation.
“But there are seven dozen here in the box,” said Marjorie; “that would look as if we thought she was eighty-four years old!”
“She isn’t,” said Kitty, seriously; “so that won’t do.”
Marjorie looked thoughtful.
“I don’t think it’s polite to put the number of her age on,” she said, at last. “We don’t know it, of course, but even if we guess at it, it wouldn’t be polite.”
“No,” agreed Kitty, “you see, we might guess right.”
“I suppose she’s more’n twenty-one,” observed Flip.
“Yes, she is,” declared King. “She’s older than my mother, I know that.”
“Hush, King,” said Midget; “you mustn’t even talk about it. I guess we’ll have to leave the candles off.”