"It's a live one, though," said its owner proudly, shaking it and holding it up to her ear.
There was a parasol and a sash for Nan, and three Japanese costumes complete for the "three little maids from school." These, they at once put on. Then they all went out on the lawn, and hung Japanese lanterns in the trees, and Nan's father set off the fireworks, which were also in the box; so the day closed in a blaze of glory.
At last they were in the sitting-room again.
The adopted children clean and dressed in white gowns were asleep in their dainty iron beds, and dreaming of happiness past, and to come.
Nan, her father, and mother, and Mrs. Stevens came in for a last word.
"I shall put on mourning to-morrow," announced Nan in a melancholy voice, "for I shall be a widow. What makes you go away, Mrs. Rayburn?"
"School and business call us to town, Nan, but we shall come every summer, and spend Christmas here, too, I hope."
"This has been the best birthday I ever spent or ever expect to," said Ethelwyn with the air of having spent at least fifty. "It is such a good idea to give things away instead of always getting them, but if you can do both, as happened this time, it covers everything."
Then they were all quiet for a little while, until Mrs. Rayburn went to the piano, and touching the keys, sang softly:
"And does thy day seem dark,
All turned to rain?
Seek thou one out whose life
Is filled with pain.
Put out a hand to help
This greater need,
And lo! within thy life
The sun will shine indeed."