CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CAROL’S BIRTHDAY S’PRISE

“Happy birthday!” Dixie cried the moment that she was sure that the pretty violet eyes of her sister were really open.

“Oh, goodie! I’m nine years old to-day. Sylvia, are you awake?” Carol then called to the little guest who was sleeping on a cot bed in another part of the big loft room over the kitchen of the log cabin.

That small maiden sat up and nodded. Although she was still thin, a remarkable change had taken place in the one week that she had lived with “poor folks.” She actually looked interested and happy, and there was a flush in the sallow cheeks, for even in seven days plenty of porridge and cream, hours of riding on the mouse-colored burro, and no candy and cake had begun to transform her from a sickly, spindling child to one who, were the pleasant simple ways continued, would soon be rosy and robust.

“Happy birthday, Carol,” Sylvia called gleefully. Then she added. “There’s a s’prise coming to-day.”

“Oh, goodie, what is it?” The younger of the Martin sisters was already dressing, for Dixie had said that “whatever you do on your birthday you will do all the year,” and so great had been the change in Carol that she now actually wished to be down-stairs in time to help her older sister prepare breakfast.

Ten minutes later they were all in the kitchen. Carol’s pretty face was flushed with excitement. “If there’s a s’prise for me,” she said, “why can’t I have it now?”

The others shook their heads. Ken, who had come in with a pail brimming with creamy milk, looked up at the clock, and then began to count. “Oh, it’s hours and hours before the real surprise is to begin,” he said to tease.

“But I can’t wait hours and hours. I just can’t. I’ll burst with curiosity! I know that I will,” the small girl declared as she brought Baby Jim from his crib and began to dress the little fellow.

Only a few months before, as Dixie could easily recall, this same little maid had pouted and felt very much abused if she had been asked to perform this loving service for her small brother. What gratitude there was in the heart of the little mother of the brood that glorious sixth of November.

Ken was straining the milk. Sylvia was setting the table. “Let’s use the best kept-for-company dishes all day,” Dixie said. “Birthdays are very special.”

This was done. Then, while the five children sat about the board, eating the porridge and cream, on which bananas had been sliced to make it “extra better,” as Ken declared, Carol began to tease first one and then another. “Sylvia,” she accused, “I know, by a sort of laughing look in your eyes, that you know just what the s’prise is to be.”

“Of course she knows, and so do we all,” Dixie put in, “but we won’t any of us tell, not until the clock strikes two. Then it’s going to happen.”

Carol clapped her hands. “Oh! Oh! It’s something that’s going to happen, is it?” Then, whirling unexpectedly and facing her big brother, she challenged: “Ken Martin, I never knew you to tell a lie in your whole life, and so I’m going to ask you. Is the surprise going to happen here in this house?”

“Don’t you tell, brother,” Dixie warned.

The laughing lad sprang up. “I’m off for the Valley Ranch. Won’t be back till lunch.” Then, seizing his hat, he darted away, stopping in the door to say, “Now, if Carol finds out, it won’t be from me.”

Such a merry morning as those three girls had. Jimmy-Boy was too young to understand what the laughter and bantering was all about. At last lunch was over; Ken had returned, and the excitement in that old log cabin was tense, for the two older Martins and their guest were preparing for the surprise trying all the time to hide even the simplest of these preparations from the curious gaze of the one most interested.

At last it was half-past one and time to dress. The three small girls had climbed the ladder to the loft, and Dixie looked often at her small sister, who was donning the very best gingham and buttoning it down the front. Now and then the violet eyes glanced across the room to where Sylvia Clayburn stood arrayed in her pretty pink silk dress, but the sigh of yearning that arose to Carol’s lips was quickly changed to a song.

Tears sprang to the eyes of the little mother, and, kissing the flushed cheek of the small girl who was nine that day, she said softly: “Carol, dearie, how long and beautiful your curls are this year. They hang almost down to your waist now, and they’re so shimmery and silky.”

The younger sister, knowing that Dixie was trying to help her count her blessings, smiled up beamingly, and little Sylvia crossed the room, and, taking one of the truly beautiful curls in her frail hand, she said: “You’d ought to be so happy ’cause you have them, hadn’t she, Dix? My hair looks as though the color’d been all washed out, and it’s straight as anything.”

Carol glanced at the head of her little friend. The pale yellow hair wasn’t a bit pretty, but Dixie was saying: “Sylvia, don’t you mind a thing about it yet. Lots of times hair grows darker. I’ve heard Sue Piggins say that hers was nearly like yours when she was eight and now look at it, a heap of sunny gold.”

“Somebody’s driving in,” Carol exclaimed. “Who do you suppose it is?”

“Go down and see,” Dixie suggested.

The smaller girl, having heard the clock strike two, was sure that the “s’prise” was about to take place, and so she scrambled down the ladder that led from the loft to the kitchen. Skipping to open the door, she beheld on the porch no less a personage than Miss Josephine Bayley, and with her was Sue Piggins, while behind them loomed a tall youth who was Ira Jenkins, the blacksmith’s good-natured, very shy, and much-overgrown son.

Miss Bayley held out both hands and kissed Carol first on one cheek and then on the other. “Happy birthday, dear,” she exclaimed, “and may you have many more, and all as happy as I am sure that this one is.”

The flushed little girl looked up at the young teacher with glowing eyes. “Oh! Oh!” she cried, “Now I know what the s’prise is. It’s a party!” She whirled to find Dixie, Sylvia, and Ken standing back of her in the big sunny kitchen. Jimmy-Boy was taking his nap.

The older sister nodded. “That’s part of the surprise,” she began, when the awkward Ira stepped forward and handed Carol a long, flat box, as he said, “Here’s ’nother part of it.”

How the violet eyes sparkled. “It’s a present, I do believe!” the small girl cried. “Oh, Dix, do see, here’s a box with a present in it. Who do you ’spose it is from?”

“Open it and see,” her sister, who was trembling with excitement, suggested. This was a wonderful hour for Dixie, an hour long dreamed of, but one that she had sometimes feared would never come true.

Carol was so eager that her small fingers just could not untie the strings, and so Ken sprang forward and offered the services of the two-bladed knife of which he was so proud.

Snap! Snap! The cord was sundered. Then Carol was about to lift the cover, when Dixie laid her hand on her sister’s. “Guess first, what’s in it,” she suggested, wishing to prolong the thrilling moment.

“I say, Dix, that isn’t fair,” Ken interceded. So the small girl was permitted to lift the top and peep into the folds of soft tissue paper.

As she gazed at her very first blue silk dress, those who loved her were amazed to see that she grew very pale, then tears rushed into her lovely violet eyes, and, turning to her older sister, she threw her arms about that small girl and sobbed as though her heart would break.

“Why, why, Carol, are—are you disappointed, dear? Isn’t it the color you’ve been wanting?” Dixie felt as though she, too, would have to cry, but the younger girl lifted her head and smiled through her tears. “I’m crying ’cause I’m so glad, glad, glad! There’s lace in the neck and sleeves, just the way I’ve always wanted, and there’s ruffles!”

How every one laughed, and then Sylvia spied a card in the silken folds.

This she pounced upon, handing it to Carol. “I know it!” that shining-eyed maiden exclaimed. “It’s a gift from Dixie and from dear teacher.”

Then it was that Ira remembered something, and darted out of the house and back to the buggy.

Dixie, the little mother of the brood of Martins, knew just why Carol had cried, for when the second box was opened, and in it was found a silk dress, the shimmery green of springtime, she felt as though she, too, would cry. She said little, although her wonderful gold-brown eyes were eloquent.

Miss Bayley went with her to the loft to help her don her new dress, and when they reappeared, the others actually stared, for Dixie looked almost pretty. In fact, Ken, as he glanced about at the guests, thought that, in some way he couldn’t just describe she was the best-looking girl there.

Miss Bayley saw it, too, that something in the face they had called plain, which seemed to prophesy that the young lady who-was-to-be would be called beautiful. Perhaps it was the glow of happiness which was making the little hostess so radiant; perhaps it was the new way that dear teacher had combed the red-gold hair, which, when loosened from its tight braid, waved and curled in little ringlets above her ears. Moreover, for the very first time, her head was adorned with a witching big, pale-green, butterfly bow. On Carol’s curls was another like it, only it was the color of the sky in June.

Ken had disappeared, though no one had noticed it. Suddenly there came a tapping on an outer door, and when Sylvia, being nearest, skipped to open it, in walked Topsy with a red bow around her neck, while Spotty and Downy-Fluff followed, wearing smaller neck-ribbons.

Ken, who had been hiding for a moment, bounded in after them, grinning his delight as he said, “I thought maybe the kits would like to come to the party, and if I’d had a pink ribbon, I’d have brought Blessing in, too.”

“Goodness! I’m glad you didn’t have,” Sue exclaimed. “I’ve been brought up with pigs, but I don’t like them, even yet, leastwise not for pets.”

Sylvia seemed to be watching for some one. Every few minutes she would run to the window and look up toward the cañon road.

“I wonder if she’s ’spectin’ a s’prise, too?” Carol said softly to Dixie. That little maid declared that she didn’t know what Sylvia was watching for. Then, at Miss Bayley’s suggestion, games were played, such as hide-the-thimble and drop-the-handkerchief. When every one was laughing and shouting with interest and excitement, there came a loud knocking at the door.

Sylvia put her hand on her heart and cried, “Oh! Oh! I do believe it’s come, and I had forgotten to watch.”

She leaped to open the door, and the others crowded round, wondering what they were to see. It was no less a personage than Mr. Hiram Tressler, the stage-driver.

“Howdy!” he began, his leathery face wrinkling in a pleasant smile. “This here’s one of the boxes, Miss Clayburn, but the other one that yer pa sent over is too heavy for me to cart down the trail all alone. Maybe now Ken and Ira’d better come up and help me h’ist it out o’ the stage.”

__The boys sprang forward with alacrity, and followed the old driver back up the steep trail. While they were gone, Sylvia, her face flushed with pleasure, handed a long, narrow box to Carol. “It’s a birthday present from me,” she said.

In that box was the most beautiful doll that the little girl had ever seen. “Why, it’s prettier even than the one that—that—” Carol could say no more, but turned tear-brimmed eyes toward the giver of the treasured gift.

Joy shone in Sylvia’s pale-blue eyes. It was the first time that she had ever known the great happiness of giving a present to some one. Impulsively she stepped forward, and, kissing the girl who was holding the doll in her arms, she said softly: “Carol, I’ve been just mean and horrid. I knew all the time that you didn’t break my dolly, and—and I asked Papa to get this one for your birthday. I’m sorry, and—and I love you now, just like you were a really, truly sister.”

They were too young to know that this love was the greatest gift that was given to Carol on her ninth birthday.

“What do you s’pose the boys went to get?” Sue Piggins was peering out of the door and up toward the trail as she spoke.

“I don’t know. I didn’t ’spect Mr. Tressler to bring anything more’n just the box with the doll in it, and that’s here,” Sylvia said as she, too, peered out curiously.

“The stage is driving up the cañon,” Sue reported to the others in the living-room, “so maybe it wasn’t anything for us after all.” But Sylvia’s sharp eyes caught sight of the two big boys who were coming slowly down the trail, carrying something between them. “Oh! Oh! I know!” she cried excitedly. “It’s ice-cream in a freezer!”

Mr. Clayburn had sent it, and since Sue had brought a wonderful frosted cake as a gift from her mother, Dixie at once laid out the best kept-for-company dishes, and refreshments were served. An hour later, when the guests departed, Ken went with them to help dear teacher into the buggy. He looked up at her with shining eyes. “Oh, gee-whizzle, look’t the sky, Miss Bayley!” he exclaimed. “I do believe a blizzard’s coming. How I do hope ’tis!”

Miss Bayley looked her surprise. “Why, Ken,” she said, “how strange! Do you honestly want this glorious autumn weather to turn into a blizzard?”

“Yes’m, that is, I—er—I mean I’d like to have Rattlesnake Sam come down from the mountains and pay us a visit,” the lad stammered, growing red as though he were embarrassed.

Ira was starting the horses and so Miss Bayley said no more, but she was puzzled, and wondered if anything had happened to the imagination of her best pupil in mathematics.