"
The boy looked at her with shining face, drew his hand across his
eyes, and then answered brightly: "Oh, that's all right, Miss Marshay;
'tenny rate 'tis with me, 'n' I reckon 'tis with Him"--and seizing his
crutch, he hopped like a little sparrow through the door and onto the
street, and she heard his boyish voice calling out: "Evenin' papers,
last edishun--all 'bout the big graft 'sposure."
Just then the big white touring car discharged its merry load at the
door, and the house was filled with the chatter and laughter of the
children. In vain she tried to find a quiet corner where she could be
alone with her heart--it was impossible to escape from the hilarious
celebration of her birthday. She was so glad when the children said
good-night and went off to bed, and she could seek the quiet of her
own room.
As she bade her father good night, he said: "Well, daughter, I hope
you have enjoyed your birthday and all your gifts?"
At this all the honesty of her nature, all the hatred of sham, rose up
in one indignant outburst, and she exclaimed: "I have had no gifts,
neither has this been my birthday celebration."
"Why, Marcia!" said her father in an aggrieved tone, "this certainly
is your birthday, and we have been very happy in keeping it for love
of you."
"I have failed to see any manifestation of love to me," retorted
Marcia.
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