“A happy birthday, and God bless thee, my daughter!”
Before Christie could do more than hug both gift and giver, a great bouquet came flying in at the open window, aimed with such skill that it fell upon the bed, while David’s voice called out from below: “A happy birthday, Christie, and many of them!”
“How sweet, how kind of you, this is! I didn’t dream you knew about to-day, and never thought of such a beautiful surprise,” cried Christie, touched and charmed by this unexpected celebration.
“Thee mentioned it once long ago, and we remembered. They are very humble gifts, my dear; but we could not let the day pass without some token of the thanks we owe thee for these months of faithful service and affectionate companionship.”
Christie had no answer to this little address, and was about to cry as the only adequate expression of her feelings, when a hearty “Hear! Hear!” from below made her laugh, and call out:
“You conspirators! how dare you lay plots, and then exult over me when I can’t find words to thank you? I always did think you were a set of angels, and now I’m quite sure of it.”
“Thee may be right about Davy, but I am only a prudent old woman, and have taken much pleasure in privately knitting this light wrap to wear when thee sits in the porch, for the evenings will soon grow chilly. My son did not know what to get, and finally decided that flowers would suit thee best; so he made a bunch of those thee loves, and would toss it in as if he was a boy.”
“I like that way, and both my presents suit me exactly,” said Christie, wrapping the fleecy shawl about her, and admiring the nosegay in which her quick eye saw all her favorites, even to a plumy spray of the little wild asters which she loved so much.
“Now, child, I will step down, and see about breakfast. Take thy time; for this is to be a holiday, and we mean to make it a happy one if we can.”
With that the old lady went away, and Christie soon followed, looking very fresh and blithe as she ran down smiling behind her great bouquet. David was in the porch, training up the morning-glories that bloomed late and lovely in that sheltered spot. He turned as she approached, held out his hand, and bent a little as if he was moved to add a tenderer greeting. But he did not, only held the hand she gave him for a moment, as he said with the paternal expression unusually visible:
