A LEAP YEAR BOY.
“To-morrow is my birthday!” said Robby to Bobby.
“What is your birfday?” said Bobby to Robby.
“Why, to-morrow, Silly!” said Robby.
Now Robby was nearly six years old, and a person of great importance.
“I don’t mean that!” said little Bobby, who was not yet four. “I mean, what is our birfday? Is it good to eat?”
“Why! why-ee! Bobby Bell! Don’t you have birthdays?” cried Robby, opening his eyes.
“No!” said Bobby, opening his mouth. “I neber saw one.”
“You don’t see them!” said Robby, in a patronizing tone, “you have them! It is the day you were born, and you have a party and presents, and a birthday cake with frosting, and your name on it in pink letters, and candy and oranges, and a gold dollar with Grandmamma’s love to her dear little boy. Do you really mean that you never had one, Bobby Bell?”
Little Bobby looked very grave. “Perhaps I wasn’t born!” he said. “I’s going to ask Mamma.” So he trotted in to his mother.