“Dear little Mary,” said Artie, kissing her. “I am so glad you like them.”
Then another thought struck Mary, as she stood touching gently one of her treasures after the other, as if she did not know which she loved the most.
“Papa, dear,” she said, “can’t I see dear mamma? I would like to zank dear mamma.”
“And so you shall, my pet,” said her father. And he picked her up as he spoke and seated her on his shoulder. Mary was very fond of riding on papa’s shoulder. “Come along, boys,” he said, “you may come with me, if you won’t be noisy, to see mamma and something else—Mary’s best birthday present of all.”
“Anoder birfday present,” said Mary, so surprised that she felt quite breathless. “Anoder, papa?”
“Yes, old woman—you couldn’t guess what, if you tried for a week of Sundays,” said papa.
Papa did say such funny things sometimes! Mary would have begun wondering what a week of Sundays could be like, if her thoughts had not been so busy with the idea of another birthday present, that she could not take in anything else.
What could it be?
“There’s been nothing but guessing to-day,” said Artie. “Nurse was making us guess so at breakfast, about something that’s comed for Mary’s birthday. Could it be this other present, papa? I’m tired of guessing.”
“Well, don’t guess any more,” said papa. “I’m going to show you.”