SIX BROWN MICE
It was Sally’s birthday and she was six years old.
Four long weeks ago she and Mother had gone into the city and had
bought Sally’s little Red Ridinghood cape, a present from Aunt Sarah
Waters.
‘My early birthday present,’ Sally called it, and wore it every time a
cape was needed and often, too, when it was not.
This birthday morning Sally was out of bed early. She had been awake
a long, long time, as much as five minutes, perhaps, watching the sun
make a rosy pattern on her wall. But now she couldn’t wait any longer
for the presents that she felt sure were hidden in Mother’s closet or
dresser drawer.
She stopped long enough to put on her red cape over her nightgown and
then crept into Mother’s room across the hall.
Sally had meant to waken Mother and Father with a hug, a birthday hug.
But there on Mother’s table were the presents, all spread out in a row,
and Sally simply couldn’t stop to hug until she had untied the boxes
and bundles that she knew were meant for her.
Father and Mother, too, it seemed, were awake early like Sally, and
were quite as interested as she in finding out what her presents might
be.
There was a tea-set with pink flowers, the pinkest kind of pink
flowers, too.
‘Alice will like that,’ said Sally in great satisfaction.
There was a wash-tub and scrubbing-board and teeny, weeny, wooden
clothes-pins, and actually a little clothes-line, so that you wouldn’t
have to use a bit of string.
There was a bag of marbles, every color, red and blue and green and
purple, all striped and spotted, as gay as you please.
‘I won’t have to play with Andy’s marbles any more,’ said Sally,
shaking the bag and enjoying the cheerful rattle, ‘I have my own
marbles now.’
There were two bright picture books, filled with pictures.
And, oh! best of all, a bathtub just big enough to hold Nancy Lee, a
bathtub that you could really fill with water and in which you could
really bathe the stout and wooden Nancy Lee.
‘This is the best birthday I have ever had,’ said Sally, hopping from
one end to the other of Mother’s room.
Even after breakfast Sally couldn’t sit still a moment. She seemed to
be all over the house at once, and no matter where Mother went, there
was Sally, too, laughing and talking and standing in the way.
There was to be a birthday party that afternoon and Mother was as busy
as could be.
‘Now, Sally,’ said she at last, ‘you must go up to the attic and dress
your dolls for the party. Straighten the attic, too. It ought to be as
neat as a pin.’
Half-way up the attic stairs Sally turned and came down again. Mother
was in the kitchen and Sally followed her there.
‘My cake!’ said Sally. ‘I forgot it. Who is going to make my birthday
cake, Mother? Are you?’
‘No,’ answered Mother, who was slicing bread very thin, ‘Aunt Bee is
going to make your cake.’
‘Then I must go over and help her,’ said Sally. ‘I helped her before,
and the cake was good.’
‘No, indeed,’ replied Mother hastily. ‘Aunt Bee won’t need your help
this morning. And you really must straighten the attic, Sally. I am
ashamed of the way it looks.’
‘I will, then,’ said Sally, starting upstairs. ‘But what are you
making, Mother?’
‘Sandwiches,’ replied Mother. ‘Yes, for the party. Run, Sally, I think
I hear Paulina calling you.’
Sally laughed. She knew that was Mother’s way of telling her to go.
So, carrying the bathtub, she went up to the attic and told her
children all about her presents and promised a sight of them before
long.
She put Nancy Lee in the bathtub and bathed her all over, a dry bath
this morning because Sally was in a hurry. She took Dora and Nora and
Flora out of their shoe-box and sat them on the sofa in a row, just to
give them a change of scene, as it were.
She straightened the doll-house and tidied all her toys.
Then with two sashes, kindly lent by Paulina, she went in search of
Tippy and Buff.
Buff, as usual, sat on the window-sill in the sun. He allowed Sally to
tie the blue sash round his neck in a birthday bow. But the moment she
had finished he clawed it off, and when she tried again, he ran up the
black-cherry tree where Sally couldn’t reach him, and only blinked his
eyes at her when she called him to come down.
Tippy was more agreeable. He permitted Sally to fasten a gay red bow on
his collar, and barked and jumped about as if he really liked it.
‘Now, Buff, look at Tip,’ said Sally reproachfully. ‘But you shan’t
have the blue ribbon now, not if you cry for it.’
And Sally went upstairs to tie round Snow White’s plump neck the blue
sash, that streamed out finely in the wind and gave a holiday look to
the whole house.
Soon it was time for the party, and in came Andy and Alice, gay and
smiling Andy with his ball and Alice with jolly Jack Tar.
They bounced their balls, they ran races in the garden. They looked at
the new picture books and played with the marbles and the tea-set.
Then Mother called them, and there stood a little table, all set for
three, with Aunt Bee’s tea-set that she had when she was a little girl,
and a cake, a birthday cake, right in the middle of the table.
It was a white cake, white as snow, and on it were not candles--Sally
had had candles last year--but mice, six chocolate mice, with tiny
pointed chocolate ears, white sugar eyes, and, actually, long pointed
chocolate tails. Never was there such a birthday surprise! Who but
Mother and Aunt Bee would have thought of such a thing and would have
searched the big city over until the mice were found!
There were sandwiches and milk, all you could eat and drink, but of
course the cake was the real party. Mother cut it, and on top of
Sally’s piece there sat a mouse, and one on Alice’s and on Andy’s
piece, too.
‘There are three mice left,’ said Sally. ‘One for Mother, one for Aunt
Bee, and one for Father. But what will Uncle Paul do?’
‘He won’t mind,’ answered Aunt Bee. ‘He may have half of mine.’
The cake was soon gone, every crumb, but it seemed a pity to eat the
mice.
‘They are so pretty,’ said Alice.
‘I want to show mine to Mother,’ said Andy.
‘Let us eat the tails and save the mice,’ suggested Sally.
But the tails were so good that the mice soon followed them. And then
the party went out to swing until it was time to go home.
It was the end of summer, and the next day both Alice and Andy were
going home. It was their last play together.
When Mrs. Thomas called for Andy, Mrs. Burr came from over the way for
Alice, and every one said good-bye over and over again.
Alice and Andy were both coming back next summer, but Sally’s face was
sober as, standing between Mother and Aunt Bee, she waved good-bye
until Andy was round the corner and Alice indoors over the way.
‘They are both coming back next year, Sally,’ said Mother, cheerfully.
‘Remember that.’
‘But it is a long time to wait,’ answered Sally, shaking her head,
‘and I don’t know what I shall do without them.’
‘You have Mother and Father,’ suggested Aunt Bee.
‘And you and Uncle Paul,’ answered Sally quickly, slipping one hand
into Aunt Bee’s and with the other seizing Mother’s hand. ‘I love Andy
and Alice, but I love Mother and Father and you and Uncle Paul more.
Yes, those are the very ones that I love best,’ said little Sally
Waters.
THE END
[Illustration]
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.