However, just then Sarah threw open the dining-room doors, and they all marched out. King offered his arm to Miss Larkin, and Flip followed, escorting Miss Hart, who, though not taking an active part, was of great assistance in her pleasant, unostentatious way. The girls followed, and Rosy Posy toddled along with them.
Ellen and Sarah had really outdone themselves in arranging an attractive feast. No one had helped them, but the experienced servants knew well just what to do.
In the centre of the table was a large, round birthday cake, which could really be eaten. It was covered with white frosting, and in pink frosting were the initials of Miss Larkin’s name, and the date of the day, with no reference to the year.
Dainty sandwiches were served first, with lemonade or milk, as the children chose.
Then there were little fancy cakes, and ice cream, and lovely jelly, and bon-bons, and nuts, and fruit, and every sort of delicacy that Ellen considered appropriate.
And then, as a final ceremony, the birthday cake was cut. Miss Larkin cut it herself, as was appropriate, and as she plunged the knife into the rich plum cake, she declared she was inspired to make a speech.
“Speech! Speech!” cried King, and they all clapped their hands and cheered.
“Dear children,” began Miss Larkin, “I think you are the dearest and best children I ever knew. I think it was sweet of you to do all this for me on my birthday, and I shall never forget it.”
That was all of the speech, and if it was simple and short, it was also most sincere and heartfelt.
The children were quiet for a moment—the earnest voice had made them a little serious—and then Flip said, “Three cheers for Miss Larkin!” and they gave them with a will.