“Where are we going to eat?” asked Chub, looking anxiously about for the table which had disappeared.
“Forward, in the sitting-room,” answered Mr. Cole. “There’s more room there, and it’s pleasanter. You and I, Miss Emery, will take a stroll on deck until they’re ready for us.”
And so Harry and her host went up to the roof-deck and watched the sun setting behind the western hills, and Harry told about her birthday luncheon at the Cottage, and the big cake with its sixteen pink candles, and—
“Oh!” she cried, halting in the midst of her narrative, “I ought to have brought some of the cake for you!”
“Well, it’s just as well,” said Mr. Cole, “because—er—well, you see, there’s another cake! I believe it was to be a surprise, but I didn’t want you to feel bad about not bringing any of the other, you see. Perhaps you won’t mind just seeming a little surprised when you go in?”
“Oh, no” laughed Harry, “not a bit. That’ll be fun, won’t it? They won’t know that I knew anything about it!”
And they never did, for when, presently, they were summoned to supper, and Harry entered the sitting-room on Mr. Cole’s arm, she simulated astonishment so perfectly that the boys howled with glee.
“Why,” exclaimed Harry, “I was never so surprised—!”
The cake—it wasn’t a very big one, nor, as events proved, a very excellent one—sat in the center of the round table, the sixteen flames from the sixteen little pink candles making sixteen little points of rosy flame in the glow of the late sunlight. There were five places set and one of them, to which Harry was ceremoniously conducted, was piled with packages.
“Oh!” said Harry. [And this time she was genuinely surprised], and her eyes grew large as she looked from the packages to the merry watching faces. Then the candle flames grew suddenly blurred for her and a tear stole down one side of her nose.