“’Deed I does. It’s the day school begins!” she responded, her pale eyes shining with delight.
“And what else?” questioned Berry.
Mollie’s smile faded and her face grew anxious.
“I dunno, Berry. It’s snowing; you don’t mean that, do you?” she questioned, and Berry gave a gay little laugh, and leaning toward her kissed Mollie’s cheek, saying, “Happy birthday, Mollie Bragg. Here you are, eleven years old to-day! And you forgot all about it!”
Mollie looked at her friend with wide eyes. “I ’most always fergits it,” she replied. “I guess nobody ever said ‘Happy birthday’ to me before.”
“Well, I’ll always say it to you after this, always!” Berry declared. “If I go back to Vermont and can’t say it, I’ll write it,” she promised; and it was a promise she remembered and fulfilled after the two little girls were separated by the long distance between Vermont and Tennessee.
As Berry spoke she turned toward the chest of drawers and said:
“Birthdays mean presents, and here are your birthday presents from Mother and me,” and48 Berry drew forth a little petticoat of soft gray flannel, one that she had formerly worn, and the blue serge blouse and skirt.
48
“Slip off your dress, Mollie, and we’ll see if they fit,” urged Berry, laying the garments on her bed, and before Mollie had recovered from her surprise she found herself dressed in the warm petticoat and the pretty serge dress, and Berry was tying one of her own scarlet neckties under the wide sailor collar of the blouse.
“There, Mollie! Look at yourself!” and Berry swung Mollie about in front of the small mirror, where the little girl gazed admiringly at her new appearance. Then, with a sober face, she began to untie the strip of scarlet silk and to unfasten the blouse.
“Don’t take them off, Mollie!” exclaimed the astonished Berry. “You are to wear them, to-day anyway.”
“Are they mine? Truly?” asked Mollie, as if unable to believe that she could really own such beautiful apparel.
“Of course they are yours. I helped to make them, but
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