“Rubbish, Mary,” said Leigh. “I dare say she’ll be all right. And you should be sorry for mamma if she’s ill; it isn’t her fault.”
“I am sorry,” said Mary dolefully; “that’s why I can’t help crying.”
“Come now, Miss Mary,” began nurse. “You’re forgetting what we fixed. No crying on a birthday, my dear. And you’re forgetting about the guesses. I’m going to give you two guesses each, Master Leigh and Master Artie and Miss Mary, about what’s come just in time for her birthday. Now don’t speak for a minute, but think it well over while you go on with your breakfast.”
There was a silence then; all the children looked very grave, though their thinking did not prevent their enjoying their nice breakfast.
“Now, Master Leigh,” said nurse, “you guess first.”
“A pony,” said Leigh. “A new pony instead of Dapple Grey who’s getting too old to trot.” Nurse shook her head.
“No, it’s not a new pony. Besides, I don’t think Miss Mary would care as much for a new pony as you boys would.”
“No,” Mary agreed. “I don’t want no pony but Dapple Grey. Nother ponies trot too fast.” Leigh thought again. This time he tried to make his guess some quite “girl” thing.
“A doll—a big doll for Mary,” he said.
Nurse smiled. No, it was not that—at least—“A wax doll, do you mean, Master Leigh?”