“I have to be off immediately,” he said, “but first I have to give you your birthday presents from dear mamma and me.”
“And ours, papa, Leigh’s and mine. They’re all together—mamma put them all together,” said Artie.
“All right. They are over there on the side-table. You fetch them,” said papa.
“Are you going to a meeting, father?” asked Leigh.
“Yes, my boy, to lots of meetings. I shan’t be back till late to-night.”
“What are meetings?” Mary was just going to ask, but the sight of Artie and the parcels put it out of her head. There was a beautiful doll’s perambulator from papa and mamma, and “a church book,” bound in red, and with “Mary” outside, in lovely gold letters; and from Leigh and Artie, a doll’s tea-service—cups and saucers and teapot and everything—in white china with little pink flowers, and dear little teaspoons of shining silver, or at least quite as pretty as silver. And then there was the birthday cake—covered with white sugar and with “Mary” in pink letters. There was no fear of Mary forgetting her name this birthday, was there?
How her eyes sparkled, and how quick her breath came with pleasure, and how rosy her cheeks grew!
“Oh papa,” she said, “oh Leigh, oh Artie!” and for a minute or two that was all she could say.
“Are you pleased, my pet?” said papa.
“Oh, I never, never did have such sp’endid presents,” said Mary.