“True; but I’m not June. However, we’ll all have cake, even if it is not birthday cake.”
“The supper bell; O, joyful sound! Are the rest of you lame old ladies going to manage to get down to the dining-room on time?”
Hilary rose with exaggerated stiffness. “I’m going to apply for a position as special guide to take venturesome tourists through the St. Lawrence rapids in a canoe.”
The girls from Squirrels’ Inn were a little late in reaching the dining-room, though others were still gathering and the bell for order before grace had not yet rung. Dotty came dancing from the birthday table to show them her birthday bouquet.
“Isn’t it lovely? The camp mother made it. See? Every little flower is made of a dee-lish-shus piece of candy in the center, with all colors of paper for petals, and this lacy white paper to hold it all, twisted tinfoil and all! I wish I could have had you big girls at my table too.”
“Thank you, Dotty,” said Hilary, “it is just as it should be.”
The birthday table was especially decorated, with fresh bouquets and extra goodies which had been sent to Dorothy. Packages were piled at Dorothy’s place; happy faces surrounded the table. But the supreme moment was when the tables were cleared for the last course and Dot went over to the kitchen for her birthday cake. The girls watched as the candles were lit for her and the cake put into her hands. Slowly and carefully she walked, watching lest her green candles blow out, while the girls sang:
“Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday to you!
Happy birthday, dear Dorothy,