"A big box of candy!" cried five-year-old Effie.
"Give us a little hint, Mary. Every time you come out here you have just had some grand surprise, so I should think there could not be much left to surprise you with," declared Dora, one of the older children, who sat beside our little girl.
"Yes, Dora, I think we are a very s'prising family. Father and Uncle are always doing something to s'prise Mother and me, and then we think up something for them. But this one—well, I know you can never, never guess it, so I shall tell you. I have the two dearest, darlingest, baby sisters in the whole world!"
"Twins! Oh, what are their names?" was the eager chorus.
"Roberta after Father, and Elizabeth after Mother; but we shall call them Berta and Beth until they grow up. Oh, I'm so happy!"
"You are!" said a pouty-looking little girl. "Dear, me! I should think you would ever so much rather be an only child."
Mary looked puzzled.
"Rather be an only child!" she echoed. "Why, Lucille, are you an only child?"
"Indeed I am not! I have three brothers and two sisters."
"How lovely! I have two little brothers in heaven, and I have been so lonely without them. But now, I shall never be lonely again. Anyone who knows how it feels to be an only child, would never like to be one."