"Sister and me is twin children two years all but a month apart, and on the first birthday which comes in July, we have presents, and on the second, in August, we have a party, or a trip away, or something, and we have all the month to choose in."
They generally chose thirty different things. Their mother nearly always let them have the last one, but once or twice, as when they wanted to go up in an air ship, she compromised on a steam launch on the river, as safer, and nearer at hand.
This morning being "present" morning, they were glad to see the sunshine darting in at their window, and to hear the birds singing outside something like this—
"Wake up, children: the day is new.
It's full of joy for dears like you."
So they woke up laughing, at least Ethelwyn did, and told Beth what the birds sang; but Beth was sleepy and uttered her usual "Uh huh."
"You are a very lazy child," said Ethelwyn in a superior tone, "and are not thinking about your presents at all, nor the making of good revolutions."
"What's them?" asked Beth, still with her eyes shut.
"Something you need to make very much, for you are not too good a child, I'm sorry to say. Mother esplained about people making things like that at New Year's, and birthdays, and so I've been thinking of some specially for you—"
"I can make my own," said Beth, fully awake now, "and I can help make yours when it comes to that, I guess."
"Well," said Ethelwyn, "I have been thinking of a few for you to begin with. One is, never to be late for breakfast, and not to be selfish about getting the bath first, and never wanting to give up when your sister wants you to—"