Roberta knew that Mother had written the words on purpose for her birthday.It was a little way of Mother's on birthdays.It had begun on Bobbie's fourth birthday when Phyllis was a baby.Bobbie remembered learning the verses to say to Father 'for a surprise.'
She wondered if Mother had remembered, too.The four-year-old verse had been:--Daddy dear, I'm only four And I'd rather not be more.
Four's the nicest age to be, Two and two and one and three.
What I love is two and two, Mother, Peter, Phil, and you.
What you love is one and three, Mother, Peter, Phil, and me.
Give your little girl a kiss Because she learned and told you this.
The song the others were singing now went like this:--Our darling Roberta, No sorrow shall hurt her If we can prevent it Her whole life long.
Her birthday's our fete day, We'll make it our great day, And give her our presents And sing her our song.
May pleasures attend her And may the Fates send her The happiest journey Along her life's way.
With skies bright above her And dear ones to love her!
Dear Bob! Many happy Returns of the day!
When they had finished singing they cried, "Three cheers for our Bobbie!" and gave them very loudly.Bobbie felt exactly as though she were going to cry--you know that odd feeling in the bridge of your nose and the pricking in your eyelids? But before she had time to begin they were all kissing and hugging her.
"Now," said Mother, "look at your presents."They were very nice presents.There was a green and red needle-book that Phyllis had made herself in secret moments.There was a darling little silver brooch of Mother's shaped like a buttercup, which Bobbie had known and loved for years, but which she had never, never thought would come to be her very own.There was also a pair of blue glass vases from Mrs.Viney.Roberta had seen and admired them in the village shop.And there were three birthday cards with pretty pictures and wishes.
Mother fitted the forget-me-not crown on Bobbie's brown head.
"And now look at the table," she said.
There was a cake on the table covered with white sugar, with 'Dear Bobbie' on it in pink sweets, and there were buns and jam; but the nicest thing was that the big table was almost covered with flowers--wallflowers were laid all round the tea-tray--there was a ring of forget-me-nots round each plate.The cake had a wreath of white lilac round it, and in the middle was something that looked like a pattern all done with single blooms of lilac or wallflower or laburnum.
"It's a map--a map of the railway!" cried Peter."Look--those lilac lines are the metals--and there's the station done in brown wallflowers.The laburnum is the train, and there are the signal-boxes, and the road up to here--and those fat red daisies are us three waving to the old gentleman--that's him, the pansy in the laburnum train.""And there's 'Three Chimneys' done in the purple primroses," said Phyllis."And that little tiny rose-bud is Mother looking out for us when we're late for tea.Peter invented it all, and we got all the flowers from the station.We thought you'd like it better.""That's my present," said Peter, suddenly dumping down his adored steam-engine on the table in front of her.Its tender had been lined with fresh white paper, and was full of sweets.
"Oh, Peter!" cried Bobbie, quite overcome by this munificence, "not your own dear little engine that you're so fond of?""Oh, no," said Peter, very promptly, "not the engine.Only the sweets."Bobbie couldn't help her face changing a little--not so much because she was disappointed at not getting the engine, as because she had thought it so very noble of Peter, and now she felt she had been silly to think it.Also she felt she must have seemed greedy to expect the engine as well as the sweets.So her face changed.
Peter saw it.He hesitated a minute; then his face changed, too, and he said: "I mean not ALL the engine.I'll let you go halves if you like.""You're a brick," cried Bobbie; "it's a splendid present." She said no more aloud, but to herself she said:--"That was awfully jolly decent of Peter because I know he didn't mean to.Well, the broken half shall be my half of the engine, and I'll get it mended and give it back to Peter for his birthday."--"Yes, Mother dear, I should like to cut the cake," she added, and tea began.
It was a delightful birthday.After tea Mother played games with them--any game they liked--and of course their first choice was blindman's-buff, in the course of which Bobbie's forget-me-not wreath twisted itself crookedly over one of her ears and stayed there.Then, when it was near bed-time and time to calm down, Mother had a lovely new story to read to them.
"You won't sit up late working, will you, Mother?" Bobbie asked as they said good night.
And Mother said no, she wouldn't--she would only just write to Father and then go to bed.
But when Bobbie crept down later to bring up her presents--for she felt she really could not be separated from them all night--Mother was not writing, but leaning her head on her arms and her arms on the table.I think it was rather good of Bobbie to slip quietly away, saying over and over, "She doesn't want me to know she's unhappy, and I won't know; I won't know." But it made a sad end to the birthday.
The very next morning Bobbie began to watch her opportunity to get Peter's engine mended secretly.And the opportunity came the very next afternoon.
Mother went by train to the nearest town to do shopping.When she went there, she always went to the Post-office.Perhaps to post her letters to Father, for she never gave them to the children or Mrs.
