Betty rather makes a point of being the first downstairs in the morning; then she is sure that father's breakfast is just as he likes it, and the children's porridge properly made. But this morning, as she passes Bob's door, she notices that the room is empty. Bob up already! Mother's room-door standing wide. Are they all up before her? Oh, she must have mistaken the time! No, seven o'clock is only just striking. What can it be?
She hurries downstairs, and now Lucy is close behind her.
Yes, they are all up. The sitting-room is full of people. Father, mother, Bob, Harry, Jennie, Pollie, even Clara! For one instant Betty stares at them in utter bewilderment, and then they all make a rush at her, and she understands.
"Many happy returns of the day! Many happy returns of the day!" and father and mother are kissing her, and the boys have hold of her hands, and the younger children are shouting and dancing wildly about her.
Surprise and delight quite take Betty's breath away; indeed it is not until they all draw back a little, and begin holding up various pretty gifts, that she can find a voice to utter a single word. Even then she can only gasp out:—
"Father, mother—Oh, to think you should all remember my birthday like this! I shall never forget this morning—never!" and there are tears of love and joy in her eyes.
"I shall never forget how bravely my lass took over my work while I was laid up in the hospital," says father, proudly, as he fills her arms with flowers.
"I shall never forget how patiently and unselfishly my little daughter works in the home," whispers mother.
"I'm not the sort of fellow to forget a good sister when I've got one, I should hope," says Bob, in his manliest voice. "Look, Betty, I've got you a little present; it isn't half bad, though, is it?" and Bob pulls out a showy photo-frame for which he has been saving up his pocket-money for some months past.
"Betty, Betty, we've hemmed you four handkerchiefs—and, Oh, we've had such a trouble to get them done without letting you know!" cry Pollie and Jennie. Even Harry has bought her a bag of chocolates; and here is poor little Clara, with a pair of mittens knitted by herself. "Do take them, miss—please. You said we were comrades, you know, and your hands do get so cold sometimes."