“Miss Mary, my dear,” said nurse. “I’m always telling you to ask me to lift you down. The chair will topple over some day and you’ll be hurting yourself badly.”
“But, nurse, I’m four, now,” said Mary. “Four is big.”
“Of course it is,” said Leigh. “Never mind, nurse. The best plan will be for me to hold her chair while she gets down. Are you ready, Artie? Mary and I are.”
Artie had managed to “honey” his face and hands, and nurse thought Mary too would not be the worse for a slight sponging.
“Papa likes a sweet kiss, but not a honey one,” she said.
But at last they were all ready and on their way down to the dining-room, where they came upon Robert again, ready to throw open the door with great dignity, as he had hurried down the back stairs on purpose to be there before them.
Papa was just finishing his breakfast. He looked up with a bright smile.
“Well, young people,” he said. “Well, my pet,” this was to Mary. “So this is your birthday, my little queen—eh?”
He lifted her on to his knee and kissed her.
Mary loved when papa called her his little queen.