Chapter XIII: The Birthday Party

The 1st of September was the most beautiful day you ever saw. A sunny breeze kept it bright and cool, and the willing workers at Denniston did the rest. Early in the morning they were all astir, eager to begin preparations; and not much later the Van Court people came over, and the ladies held secret confabs with Mrs. Kinsey and Ellen, while Mr. Van Court and Mr. Brewster hobnobbed with Pete on what seemed to be very important business.

Betty and Jack were forbidden to peep into the kitchen, or to even look toward a certain part of the grounds, whence mysterious sounds of carpentering were heard.

However, Betty and Jack had secret schemes of their own, and found the morning hours all too short to attend to them.

Of course there were no lessons that day, but Mr. Mixon came just the same, and proved of assistance to everybody.

The party was to be from four to nine; but all the guests came before four and stayed until after nine, and indeed many of the children, especially those of the orchestra, were in and out all day long.

Dr. Norton came down for the day, and, taking off Jack’s splints, pronounced that his bones had healed and that his leg was all right, and said he might walk a hundred steps in the parade, but after that he must ride.

“Hooray!” cried Jack, as the awkward splints came off at last, and he stood erect and straight, without crutches. “Hooray! Three cheers for Dr. Norton!”

They were given with a will by more than a dozen voices, for the family, guests, and servants were all gathered at the door or in the hall, waiting to hear the good news.

“Oh, thank you, sir,” cried Betty, as she grasped Dr. Norton’s hand in both her own. “Oh, thank you—thank you with all my heart! I’m so _glad_ you cured my Jack. It’s the best birthday present he could have.”

“Bless the boy,” said grandma, “and he’s been so good and patient through it all.”

Then everybody rejoiced with him, and congratulated him, until Jack felt like a hero just returned from war or some other dreadful danger.

Pete ran up the big flag to the top of its pole; and Polly, who was lost sight of during the excitement, celebrated the occasion by finding a pair of scissors and cutting all the golden curls off of one side of her foolish little baby head.

A wail of woe went up from Lisa when she saw the mischief, and another from Betty when she flew to the scene of action.

“Oh, Polly,” she cried, “baby Polly, how _could_ you cut off your pretty curls?”

“Me give kyurls to Betty,” said the baby, cheerfully, dumping a bunch of yellow floss in Betty’s lap.

Then, as there was nothing else to do, Betty cut the curls from the other side, leaving Polly in a state of great bewilderment as to why it was wrong for her, but right for Betty, to do the wicked deed.

Beauty-loving Betty was ready to cry at the sight of the little shorn head, for Polly was to have graced the parade in a wonderful new white frock, all frills and filmy lace, in which she looked like an angel; and now the angel’s halo was gone.

But Betty’s ingenuity did not desert her. Flinging on her hat, she whistled for her pony-cart, and in a few minutes was bowling merrily along on the road to town.

“Dixie,” Betty’s pony, was quite as much of a pet as Sydney, and was not much larger than the great dog.

He was a real “banker” pony, which is the kind raised in some of our Southern States on the “banks” of the ocean. These ponies are very small, but stout and strong. They are allowed to run wild when young, and their hair grows to the length of two inches or more. They forage for food, and when thirsty they dig holes in the sand and drink the water that filters into them.

When ready to be sold, they are caught with a lasso, like the wild horses in the West; then, after being sheared and branded, they settle down into the most gentle and docile little beasts imaginable.

They live long; indeed, Dixie was already twenty years old when Mr. Brewster bought him for Betty’s use.

Betty being so much younger, Dixie was very considerate, and until she learned how to ride and drive he was patient, and careful of her safety. When she would jump on his back only to tumble off again, he would turn and look at her as much as to say, “I’m so sorry for you; just try it again.” But Betty was fearless, and far from stupid, and she soon learned to be a correct and graceful little horsewoman.

Good little Dixie was ready and willing to go to town a dozen times a day, if need be; so on this occasion he kicked up his heels and flew over the ground, while Betty held on to her hat with one hand and drove with the other. She stopped in front of a hair-dresser’s shop, and gave the reins a turn around the whip.

“Stay there, Dix, until I come back,” said she; and jumping out, she ran into the shop; and nothing less than an explosion would have made Dixie move until his young mistress returned.

“Have you any golden curls for sale?” asked Betty of the wonderfully befrizzled young woman behind the counter.

“No, miss, we haven’t; but we expect some in to-morrow.”

“Oh, that won’t do at all,” said Betty. “I must have them to-day.”

“We have some beautiful brown curls, miss; wouldn’t they answer?”

Betty thought a minute. Polly had brown eyes, and anything was better than that poor little shorn scalp.

So she took two short ones and half a dozen long ones. And then she went to the milliner’s and bought a hat, all fluffy white frills and lace, and asked the milliner to sew the curls in it. Then Betty took her clever invention home with her, and tried it on Polly.

The whole affair was very becoming; only, the baby was so changed in her appearance that even Betty scarcely knew her.

“Never mind; you look sweet in it, Pollypops,” she said, kissing her, as she took the hat off; and Polly said, “Yi, yi.”

* * * * *

At last four o’clock came, and everybody had arrived. A crowd of grown-ups sat on the veranda to see the great parade, which was in process of forming down in the orchard.

The children were to march across the lawn; and then, just as the head of the column neared the house, Jack would fall in and take his hundred steps, after which he would get into the cart, and drive Dixie the rest of the way.

Soon the music—noise, I mean—of the pop-gun orchestra was plainly heard; and after a few moments of uncertainty, the listeners decided they were playing at the “Star-Spangled Banner.” But it seemed to fizzle out, and a few final squeaks and shrieks were followed by silence on the part of the instruments, but an evident squabbling among the members of the orchestra.

“All right,” said Betty, at last; and they broke into a grand rendering of “The Mulligan Guards.” All kept time, and the fifes tooted, and the drums banged, and the pop-guns popped at just the right moments, and those who blew through the combs blew with all their might, so that it was a wonderful wave of sound that came around the corner.

And a wonderful sight, too. Betty led the line, walking backward, and waving a little baton with one hand, and holding in the other her papered comb, playing vigorously.

All of the orchestra were in uniform. Betty had had the suits made, and the children slipped them on over their other clothes. The girls wore red skirts and military-looking jackets made of red, shiny muslin, liberally banded with strips of gilt paper; the boys had trousers and jackets of the same brilliant materials; and all wore big peaked hats made of pasteboard covered with gilt paper, from the tops of which waved bunches of red feathers.

Betty had designed this costume herself, and it was really very effective, and the band received tumultuous applause as they marched by the reviewing-stand. Next came Polly. She was seated in her baby-carriage, but the little wicker coach was so covered with flowers that it looked like a moving floral mound. The seat had been built up higher, and Polly sat aloft, waving her little fat arms and shouting with glee.

But such a Polly! With her sudden achievement of long dark curls no one recognized her at first, and only her well-known “Yi, yi,” would make Grandma Jean believe that it was really baby Polly. Lisa, who pushed the carriage, was marvelously garbed in red cheese-cloth and an ornamental hat; for Betty’s ideas of gaiety were limited to red coloring and effective head-gear.

And next came Jack, preceded by a sort of body-guard of Pete and Barney gorgeously attired in full military regalia, which had been hired for the occasion. Jack, in a red-and-gold suit, walked proudly erect. His face was pale with excitement, but his tread was firm and even; and Bill, the stable-boy, who had been detailed to follow him and count his steps, called out “One hundred!” just after Jack passed the veranda. Then, amid the applause and cheers of the audience, he climbed into the gaily decorated cart, and Dixie fell into line as naturally as if he always walked in a parade.

Sydney came next; a wreath of flowers round his neck, tied with a big red bow, was his only adornment, and quite enough he found it. He walked in the procession because he had been told to do so; but his dignity placed him above that sort of foolishness, and his air showed a benign patronage of the whole affair. Then came a double line of children, who had been invited, and requested to wear something red; and so red dresses, sashes, hats, and shoes were in evidence, and made a gay scene.

After the parade had all passed the veranda, Betty brought her orchestra back again, and nearly deafened the long-suffering audience by giving them the “Anvil Chorus,” with an accompaniment of real anvils.

After that she dismissed her musicians and announced that the party had begun. Then every one did what he or she wanted to. They played tennis or bowled, or rowed on the lake, or drove in the pony-cart, or swung.

And after that it was time for the feast.

This was spread out of doors on a great table, or, rather, two tables put together in the shape of a =T=. At the two ends of the cross-table sat Jack and Betty, and at the end of the other table sat little Polly in her high chair. Her hat had been laid aside, and of course the curls went with it; but the loss of either yellow or brown ringlets in no way interfered with Polly’s enjoyment, and she clamored for her supper and a cup of tea “wiv a much of sugar in it.”

Facing Polly, and at the point where the two tables joined, Grandma Jean sat; and from here she could have a watchful eye over all the guests, big and little, and make sure that their wants were all attended to—though Ellen and her skilful assistants left little to be done.

The feast consisted of everything that people usually have on such occasions, and more besides. Such a birthday supper had never before been seen in Greenborough. Orders had been sent to New York, and giant hampers had arrived that afternoon with the most wonderful fruits and confections and cakes, and a great big salmon that looked as if he could swim in the sea, but proved all ready to be eaten, and boned turkeys, and funny little sandwiches rolled up and tied with ribbons. And then there was ice-cream in queer shapes that made the children laugh: fat little Chinese mandarins, and soldiers carrying chocolate guns, and ducks and geese, and even a pig with a curly tail. Funny little cakes, too, that looked like all sorts of things, from dominoes to potatoes, and tasted delicious. And then—this was Grandma Jean’s secret—a great big birthday cake was placed in front of Betty, with fifteen candles burning around it, and “Betty” traced upon it in most marvelous frosting, with decorations of candies and crystallized fruits. And a similar cake was set before Jack, with his name blazoned on it, and fifteen candles burning. And then a wee cake with three candles, and bearing the name of “Polly,” was set in front of that hilarious damsel, who looked at it critically, and then puffed up her fat cheeks and tried to blow out the candles, saying: “Polly no byurn up her cake!”

The cakes were cut, and exhibited a most satisfactory plumminess; and then, as none of the little people could eat any more, Grandma Jean proposed that the birthday cakes be divided into generous portions, and each child receive a piece to take home. This met with general approval; and Ellen brought a tray of lovely silver-paper boxes, with three links of a chain embossed in gilt on each cover. The end links contained the names “Jack” and “Betty,” and the tiny link that joined them encircled the name “Polly.” Also, each child received beautiful bonbons in a satin bag. And then they snapped German cracker-mottos, and put on the grotesque paper caps that appeared.

And now it was getting dusk, and they all adjourned to the house.

When they entered the parlor they saw a strange figure sitting in a corner of the room. It seemed to be a young boy, but a very large one. He wore a white suit with a huge white ruff and a white beaver hat. He sat on a stool, and before him, on a low table, was an immense pie, that must have measured fully a yard across.

“Little Jack Horner!” cried a dozen voices at once.

“Why, so it is,” said Mr. Brewster. “Put in your thumb, Jack, and pull us out a plum.”

“Yessir,” said Jack Horner; and he thrust his hand into the pie and drew out a white paper parcel.

“Who wants this plum?” said he.

“Me,” said Polly, toddling up to get it.

“Wait, baby,” said Mr. Brewster. “No, this isn’t your plum; this has Agnes Graham’s name on it.”

So Agnes took it, and it proved to contain a lovely little work-box, with silver thimble, scissors, and furnishings, all complete.

Then Jack Horner found a plum for each of the rest, and every plum was a beautiful present.

After the pie-dish was empty, Jack Horner told the children to put their “plums” away in some safe place, and get their wraps, for the next performance would be out of doors.

Then Jack Horner, whom the children had long ago discovered to be Mr. Dick Van Court, led the way to a new building, which was an explanation of the mysterious carpentry of the morning. It was a raised platform with graduated rows of seats; and when the whole party was comfortably seated, they were treated to a magnificent exhibition of fireworks. Brilliant rockets and bombs hissed through the air, and exploded into showers of shining stars of every possible color. Pinwheels whizzed around, throwing off sparks, and colored Greek fire made the whole place look like fairyland. Fire balloons were sent up and watched until they floated away out of sight; and at last the final illumination was announced.

This proved to be a repetition of the three links of chain on the cake-boxes, and stood out in letters of fire against the sky.

Loud applause followed this; and as it faded from sight, Tom Fenn proposed “three cheers for the McGuires,” and they were given with a will.

It was after nine now—yes, and after ten; so the guests departed, feeling sure they would always remember the McGuires’ birthday party.