“Well, she certainly is an odd child not to be perfectly delighted with so many nice things. When I was a little girl——” reiterated Aunt Laura.
But just then Hannah appeared at the door and Priscilla’s mother murmured in her ear, “Say ‘Good-night all,’ my darling, ‘and thank you for giving me such a happy birthday.’”
“Good-night all, and thank you for giving me such a happy birthday,” whispered Priscilla with a sobbing catch in her voice.
“Don’t mention it,” responded Uncle Arthur, bowing low.
And then Hannah led her off to bed.
But that was by no means the end of her birthday, although she thought it was. Long after she was safely asleep in her little brass bed the grown-up people down-stairs were still talking about her. It seemed so remarkable to them that she had not shown more interest in the beautiful things they had prepared for her.
“Priscilla was never a very demonstrative child,” said her mother a little sadly, as if she were excusing her.
“But her heart is in the right place, nevertheless,” her father declared.
“Oh, it isn’t that,” broke in Aunt Laura. “She is a dear little girl, of course, but—all I mean is, she doesn’t act as a child ought to act; as a healthy child ought to act. She ought to be full of spirits, jumping about and laughing and playing. Now when I was a little girl——”
“I don’t think you quite understand Priscilla, dear Aunt Laura,” a bright young voice interrupted quickly. “She is naturally a quiet, timid little thing. She would never be boisterous, but you are right in this, that she doesn’t act as a child of her age might be expected to act, and the reason is, she is lonely. She has never known other children. She has never learned to play. Now these presents here are all very fine in their way, but they do not really interest her, because she does not know how to use them.”