CHAPTER I.
HER TWELFTH BIRTHDAY
"Oh, Tarbaby! _Everybody_ has forgotten that it is my birthday! Even PapaJack has gone off to town without saying a word about it, and he nevah didsuch a thing befo' in all his life!"
As she spoke, the Little Colonel put her arm around her pony's neck, andfor a moment her fair little head was pressed disconsolately against itsvelvety black mane.
"It isn't the presents I care about," she whispered, choking back aheart-broken sob; "but oh, Tarbaby, it's the bein' forgotten! Of co'semothah couldn't be expected to remembah, she's been so ill. But I thinkgrandfathah might, or Mom Beck, or _somebody_. If there'd only been onesingle person when I came down-stairs this mawnin' to say 'I wish youmany happy returns, Lloyd, deah,' I wouldn't feel so bad. But therewasn't, and I nevah felt so misah'ble and lonesome and left out since Iwas bawn."
Tarbaby had no words with which to comfort his little mistress, but heseemed to understand that she was in trouble, and rubbed his nose lovinglyagainst her shoulder. The mute caress comforted her as much as words couldhave done, and presently she climbed into the saddle and started slowlydown the avenue to the gate.
It was a warm May morning, sweet with the fragrance of the locusts, forthe great trees arching above her were all abloom, and the ground beneathwas snowy with the wind-blown petals. Under the long white arch she rode,with the fallen blossoms white at her feet. The pewees called from thecedars and the fat red-breasted robins ran across the lawn just as theyhad done the spring before, when it was her eleventh birthday, and she hadridden along that same way singing, the happiest hearted child in theValley. But she was not singing to-day. Another sob came up in her throatas she thought of the difference.
"Now I'm a whole yeah oldah," she sighed. "Oh, deah! I don't want to growup, one bit, and I'll be suah 'nuff old on my next birthday, for I'll bein my teens then. I wondah how that will feel. This last yeah was such alovely one, for it brought the house pahty and so many holidays. But thisyeah has begun all wrong. I can't help feelin' that it's goin' to bring melots of trouble."
Half-way down the avenue she thought she heard some one calling her, andstopped to look back. But no one was in sight. The shutters were closed inher mother's room.
"Last yeah she stood at the window and waved to me when I rode away,"sighed the child, her eyes filling with tears again. "Now she's so whiteand ill it makes me cry to look at her. Maybe that is the trouble thisyeah is goin' to bring me. Betty's mothah died, and Eugenia's, andmaybe"--but the thought was too dreadful to put into words, and shestopped abruptly.
"Mom Beck was right," she whispered with a nod of her head. "She said thatsad thoughts are like crows. They come in flocks. I wish I could stopthinkin' about such mou'nful things."
A train passed as she cantered through the gate and started down the roadbeside the railroad track. She drew rein to watch it thunder by. Somechild at the window pointed a finger at her, and then two smiling littlefaces were pressed against the pane for an eager glimpse. It was theprettiest wayside picture the passengers had seen in all that morning'stravel--the Little Colonel on her pony, with the spray of locust bloom inthe cockade of the Napoleon cap she wore, and a plume of the same gracefulblossoms nodding jauntily over each of Tarbaby's black ears.
As the admiring faces whirled past her, Lloyd drew a long breath ofrelief. "I'm glad that I don't have to do my riding in a smoky old carthis May mawnin'," she thought. "It is wicked for me to be so unhappy whenI have Tarbaby and all the othah things that mothah and Papa Jack havegiven me. I know perfectly well that they love me just the same even ifthey have forgotten my birthday, and I won't let such old black crowthoughts flock down on me. I'll ride fast and get away from them."
That was harder to do than she had imagined, for as she passed JudgeMoore's place the deserted house added to her feeling of loneliness. Andy,the old gardener, was cutting the grass on the front lawn. She called tohim.
"When is the family coming out from town, Andy?"
"Not this summer, Miss Lloyd," he answered. "It'll be the first summer intwenty years that the Judge has missed. He has taken a cottage at theseaside, and they're all going there. The house will stay closed, just asyou see it now, I reckon, for another year."
"At the seashore!" she echoed. "Not coming out!" She almost gasped, thenews was so unexpected. Here was another disappointment, and a very soreone. Every summer, as far back as she could remember, Rob Moore had beenher favourite playfellow. Now there would be no more mad Tam O'Shanterraces, with Rob clattering along beside her on his big iron-gray horse. Nomore good times with the best and jolliest of little neighbours. A summerwithout Rob's cheery whistle and good-natured laugh would seem as emptyand queer as the woods without the bird voices, or the meadows without thewhirr of humming things. She rode slowly on.
There was no letter for her when she stopped at the post-office to inquirefor the mail. The girls on whom she called afterward were not at home, soshe rode aimlessly around the Valley until nearly lunch-time, wishing foronce that it were a school-day. It was the longest Saturday morning shehad ever known. She could not practise her music lesson for fear of makingher mother's headache worse. She could not go near the kitchen, where shemight have found entertainment, for Aunt Cindy was in one of her blacktempers, and scolded shrilly as she moved around among her shining tins.
There was no one to show her how to begin her new piece of embroidery;Papa Jack had forgotten to bring out the magazines she wanted to see;Walker had failed to roll the tennis-court and put up the net, so shecould not even practise serving the balls by herself.
When lunch-time came, it was so lonely eating by herself in the bigdining-room, that she hurried through the meal as quickly as possible, andtiptoed up the stairs to the door of her mother's room. Mom Beck raisedher finger with a warning "Sh!" and seeing that her mother was stillasleep, Lloyd stole away to her own room, her own pretty pink and whitenest, and curled herself up among the cushions in a big easy chair by thewindow.
It was the first time in her memory that her mother had been ill. For morethan a week she had not been able to leave her room, and the lonely child,accustomed to being with her constantly, crept around the house like alittle stray kitten. The place scarcely seemed like home, and the dayswere endless. Some unusual feeling of sensitiveness had kept her fromreminding the family of her birthday. Other years she had openly countedthe days, for weeks beforehand, and announced the gifts that she would bemost pleased to receive.
Here by the window the dismal crow thoughts began flocking down to heragain, and to drive them away she picked up a book from the table andbegan to read. It was a green and gold volume of short stories, one thatshe had read many times before, but she never grew tired of them.
The one she liked best was "Marguerite's Wonder-ball," and she turned tothat first, because it was the story of a happy birthday. Marguerite was alittle German girl, learning to knit, and to help her in her task herfamily wound for her a mammoth ball of yarn, as full of surprise packagesas a plum cake is of plums. Day by day, as her patient knitting unwound theyarn, some gift dropped out into her lap. They were simple things, nearlyall of them. A knife, a ribbon, a thimble, a pencil, and here and therea bonbon, but they were magnified by the charm of the surprise, and theyturned the tedious task into a pleasant pastime. Not until her birthdaywas the knitting finished, and as she took the last stitches a littlevelvet-covered jewel-box fell out. In the jewel-box was a string of pearlsthat had belonged to Marguerite's great-great-grandmother. It was a preciousfamily heirloom, and although Marguerite could not wear the necklace untilshe was old enough to go to her first great court ball, it made her veryproud and happy to think that, of all the grandchildren in the family,she had been chosen as the one to wear her great-great-grandmother'sname that means pearl, and had inherited on that account the beautifulVon Behren necklace.
When the knitting was done there was a charming birthday feast in herhonour. They crowned her with flowers, and every one, even t
he dignifiedold grandfather, did her bidding until nightfall, because it was _her_day, and she was its queen.
Closing the book Lloyd lay back among the cushions, smiling for thetwentieth time over Marguerite's happiness, and planning the beautifulwonder-ball she herself would like to have, if wonder-balls were to be hadfor the wishing. It should be as big as a cart-wheel, and the first giftto be unwound should be a tiny ring set with an emerald, because that isthe lucky stone for people born in May. She already owned so many books,and trinkets, that she hardly knew what else to wish for unless it mightbe a coral fan chain and a mother-of-pearl manicure set. But deep down inthe heart of the ball she would like to find a wishing-nut, that wouldgrant her wishes like an Aladdin's lamp whenever it was rubbed.
She must have fallen asleep in the midst of her day-dreaming, for itseemed to her that it was only a minute after she closed her book, thatshe heard the half-past five o'clock train whistling at the station, andwhile she was still rubbing her eyes she saw her father coming up theavenue.
All day she had had a lingering hope that he might bring her somethingwhen he came out from the city. "If it's nothing but a bag of peanuts,"she thought, "it will be better than having a birthday go by withoutanything, 'specially when all the othahs have been neahly as nice asChristmas."
She peeped out between the curtains, scanning him eagerly as he cametoward the house, but there was no package in either hand, and nosuggestive parcel bulged from any of his pockets.
"I'll not be a baby," Lloyd whispered to herself, winking her eyelidsrapidly to clear away a sort of mist that seemed to blur the landscape."I'm too old to care so much."
Still, it was such a disappointment, added to all the others that the dayhad brought, that she buried her face in the cushions and cried softly.She could hear her father's voice in the next room, presently. It seemedquite loud and cheerful; more cheerful than it had sounded since hermother's dreadful neuralgic headaches had begun. A few minutes later sheheard her mother laugh. It was such a welcome sound, that she hastilydried her eyes and started to run in to see what had caused it, but shepaused as she passed the mirror. Her eyes were so red that she knew shewould be questioned, and she concluded it would be better to wait untilshe was dressed for dinner.
So she sat looking out of the window till the big hall clock struck six,and then hastily bathing her eyes, she slipped into a fresh white dress,and looking carefully at herself in the mirror, concluded that she hadwaited long enough. To her surprise, she found her mother sitting up in abig Morris chair by the window. Maybe it was the pink silk kimono she worethat brought a faint tinge of colour to her cheeks, but whatever it was,she looked well and natural again, and for the first time in six long daysthe neuralgic headache was all gone, and the lines of suffering weresmoothed out of her face.
The wide glass doors opening on to the balcony were standing open, andthrough the vines stole the golden sunset light, the chirping of robins,the smell of new-mown grass, and the heavy sweetness of the locustblooms. Lloyd rubbed her eyes, thinking she surely must be dreaming. Thereon the vine-covered balcony stood a table all set as if for a "pinkparty." There were flowers and bonbons in the silver dishes, and in thecentre Mom Beck was proudly placing a mammoth birthday cake, wreathed inpink icing roses, and crowned with twelve pink candles ready for thelighting.
"Oh, mothah!" she cried. "I--I thought--"
She did not finish the sentence, but something in her surprised tone, thesudden flushing of her face, and the traces of tears still in her eyes,told what she meant.
"You thought mother had forgotten," whispered Mrs. Sherman, tenderly, asLloyd hid her face on her shoulder.
"No, not for one minute, dear. But the pain was so bad this morning, whenyou came to my room, that I couldn't talk. Then you were out riding solong this morning, and when I wakened after lunch and sent Mom Beck tofind you, she said you were asleep in your room. Papa Jack and I have beenplanning a great surprise for you, and he did not want to mention it untilall the arrangements were completed. That is why there was no birthdaysurprise for you at breakfast. But you'll soon be a very happy littlegirl, for this surprise is something you have been wanting for more than ayear."
How suddenly the whole world had changed for the Little Colonel! Thesunshine had never seemed so golden, the locust blooms so deliciouslysweet. Her birthday had not been forgotten, after all. Mrs. Sherman'schair was wheeled to the table on the balcony, and Lloyd took her seatwith sparkling eyes. She wondered what the surprise could be, and feltsure that Papa Jack would not tell her until the cake was cut, and thelast birthday wish made with the blowing of the birthday candles.
He had intended to save his news to serve with the dessert, but when hequestioned Lloyd as to how she had spent the day, and laughed at her forreading the old tale of Marguerite's wonder-ball so many times, his secretescaped him before he knew it. Turning to Mrs. Sherman he said, "By theway, Elizabeth, our birthday gift for Lloyd might be called a sort ofwonder-ball." Then he looked at his little daughter with a teasing smile,as he continued, "I wonder if you can guess my riddle. At first yourwonder-ball will unroll a day and night on the cars, then a drive througha park where you rode in a baby-carriage once upon a time, but throughwhich you shall go in an automobile this time, if you wish. There'll besome shopping, maybe, and after that flags flying, and bands playing, andcrowds of people waving good-bye."
He had intended to stop there, but the wondering expression on her facecarried him on further. "I can't undertake to say how much yourwonder-ball can hold, but somewhere near the centre of it will be ameeting with Betty and Eugenia, and perhaps a glimpse of the Gate of theGiant Scissors that you are always talking about."
As Lloyd listened a look of utter astonishment crept over her face. Thenshe suddenly sprang from her chair, and running to her father put a handon each shoulder. "Papa Jack," she cried, breathlessly, "look me straightin the eyes! Are you in earnest? You don't mean that we are going abroad,do you? It _couldn't_ be anything so lovely as that, could it?"
For answer he drew an envelope from his pocket and shook it before hereyes. "Look for yourself," he said. "This is to show that we are listedfor passage on a steamer going to Antwerp the first of June. You may beginto pack your trunk next week, if you wish."
It was impossible for Lloyd to eat any more after that. She was tooexcited and happy, and there were countless questions she wanted to ask."It's bettah than a hundred house pahties," she exclaimed, as she blew outthe last birthday candle. "It's the loveliest wondah-ball that evah was,and I'm suah that nobody in all Kentucky is as happy as I am now."