CHOOSING A BIRTHDAY
Life at Denniston soon settled down into a natural and ordinary course,
except that Betty and Jack had rather better times than most children.
The Van Courts came over occasionally to advise and assist, when
necessary; and Mr. Brewster came to Greenborough once a month, and went
over the accounts with Mrs. Kinsey, to assure himself that everything
was going on rightly, and that he might make a favorable report to Mr.
Morris. Betty had concluded that she didn’t want a governess who would
live in the house, because it would spoil things to have some one in the
family and yet not of it; but a tutor was engaged, who came every
morning and taught the young ideas to shoot straight. The library was
turned into a school-room, and Mr. Mixon found his two pupils very
diligent and studious, since both were naturally bright and truly
anxious to learn.
Although the days were growing warm, they decided not to take a summer
vacation; for, as Betty said, all their life had been a vacation, and
their school-term had just begun. So they pegged away at their books
every morning, and spent the afternoons in sports and games.
Of intimate friends they had a small circle; but Jack and Betty were
shrewd readers of character, and a boy or girl who looked down upon them
because of their humble origin, or looked up to them only because of
their wealth, was not often invited again to Denniston.
But perhaps a dozen young folks in the neighborhood proved to be what
Jack called “true blue,” and any or all of these were welcomed in the
afternoons; and they were glad to come, too, for nowhere else could be
found such good fun.
It was not only that Denniston had tennis-courts and bowling-alleys, and
a pond with rowboats on it, or that Ellen’s pantry could always provide
a bountiful feast for a hungry throng, or that Pete was ever ready with
service of any kind that might be required; but Betty and Jack were such
a jolly, good-natured pair, always ready for any kind of fun, and never
dictatorial or quarrelsome.
Of course Jack’s lameness prevented his joining in some of the athletic
sports; but he could bowl and row as well as any boy, and he had hopes
of being able some day to run and jump with the best of them; for a
great surgeon in New York had been written to, and had consented to come
to Greenborough and undertake the cure of the lame boy.
One day in July Dr. Norton came, and said that Jack’s case was curable,
but that his leg would have to be broken and reset.
Though the operation would be painful, and the healing slow, Jack
declared himself willing to undergo tortures, if need be; and so the
deed was done.
And then poor Jack had to lie strapped to a board for nearly a month,
and then walk with crutches for two or three weeks longer.
He bore it all bravely, and even while disabled studied his lessons so
diligently that he threatened to get ahead of Betty.
But that ambitious young woman wouldn’t allow such a thing, so she
redoubled her energies; and the two made such progress that Mr. Mixon
began to think he had a pair of prodigies in his charge.
The 1st of September was set for Jack to take his first unassisted
steps; and one hot day about the middle of August Betty ran into his
room, and slammed the door behind her.
Although improved in many ways by Grandma Jean’s wise training and by
her own sense of the fitness of things, Betty still had a decided
breeziness of manner, and was given to abruptness both in words and
deeds.
“Jack,” she exclaimed, in an excited tone, “don’t you tell if I tell you
somethin’.”
“No,” said Jack, who was deep in an English history. “But I say, Betty,
have you come to Mary, Queen of Scots, yet? They cut off her head! Just
think of it—cut off her head!”
“What a pity,” said Betty, with sympathy, but rather absent-mindedly;
“but _promise_, Jack, _don’t_ tell what I’m going to tell you.”
“I won’t tell; what is it?” said Jack, solemnly.
“Well, I’m going to have a birthday party!”
“Pooh! You can’t. You haven’t got any birthday—or at least you don’t
know when it is.”
“That’s just it. I’m going to _get_ a birthday.”
“Ho! _buy_ it, I s’pose. Do you think you can buy everything?”
“Now, listen, Jack. You don’t know when your birthday is, either; and we
don’t know Polly’s exactly, only that it’s in September. So I’m going to
choose one birthday, and let it do for the whole three of us.”
“All right; but there’s plenty of days—why not have one apiece?”
“No; it’ll be more fun to have ’em all on the same day. We’ll take
September, ’cause we know that’s Polly’s month; and now let’s choose a
day in the first week of it, and then you walk first on that day, and
we’ll celebrate it by a party.”
“All right; I choose the 1st; that’ll come the quickest.”
“Well, if you’re sure your splint will be off by that time. We’ll ask
Dr. Norton. And I’ve planned it all out. I want the celebration to be a
parade—in honor of your being able to walk, you know.”
“Yes,” said Jack, who was interested enough now; “and we’ll have a
band.”
“We’ll _be_ the band ourselves. I’m going to get up a ‘pop-gun
orchestra.’ Tillie Fenn told me about it. And you can ride when you get
tired walking, and Polly will be in the parade in her baby-carriage, and
it’ll be lovely!”
“What’s a pop-gun orchestra?”
“Oh, it’s lots of fun! Everybody plays on anything they want to. Tillie
Fenn and I are going to town to-day to get the things to play on, and
then we’ll all have to practise, you know.”
“I thought you said it was a secret.”
“Not the orchestra; only the birthday party and the parade. Now, while
I’m gone, you make out a list of the boys and girls we want in the band.
It doesn’t matter whether they can play on anything or not, for some
have just clappers or paper and combs to play on.”
“I’ll play the bones,” said Jack; “I can do that in style, though I
haven’t touched ’em since I came here. Bring me a set, will you, Betty?”
“All right; I will. Now, you make out a list of people—and think up a
lot of tunes, too.”
Betty whisked out as suddenly as she had whisked in, and skipping down
to the veranda, gave a long, shrill whistle which could be heard at the
barn, and in response to which her pony-cart was soon at the door.
“Thank you, Pete,” she said pleasantly; and in a moment she had jumped
in and was flying down the avenue.
She stopped for Tillie Fenn, and then the two girls drove off to the
village.
They easily found what they wanted, and returned laden with pop-guns,
jew’s-harps, combs, watchmen’s rattles, drums, cymbals, bones,
sand-brushes—in fact, anything that would make a noise.
Betty told her friend the great secret; for what fun is there in having
a secret, unless you tell it? And Tillie thought the whole project
grand, and promised to help all she could. “Be sure and come over
to-morrow afternoon,” said Betty, as she left Tillie at her own home.
“Come early, and stay to supper.”
“Yes, I’ll come; and shall I bring Tom?”
“Yes, indeed; the more the merrier.”
When Betty reached home, Jack had the list of performers made out, and a
note written to each one. Pete was despatched at once to deliver the
notes, and then Betty displayed her stock of musical instruments with
pride.
Jack grasped eagerly at the bones, and made such a deafening
clatteration with them that Betty ran away with her hands over her ears.
At supper, that night, they told Grandma Jean all about it, and she was
much amused at the idea of the triple birthday.
“And how old will you all be?” she asked, thinking up a small secret on
her own account.
“Well,” said Betty, uncertainly, “I think I’ve been fourteen for about a
year, so I’ll be fifteen. Jack doesn’t know how old he is, so we’re
going to call him fifteen, too; and Polly, of course, will be three. We
know her birthday comes in September, but we don’t know the day.” Then
she added reflectively: “It’s just as likely to be the 1st as another
day.”
[Illustration: “BETTY AND TILLIE RETURNED LADEN WITH POP-GUNS,
JEW’S-HARPS, COMBS, WATCHMEN’S RATTLES, DRUMS, CYMBALS, BONES, AND SAND
BRUSHES.”]
“No,” said Jack, who had a head for mathematics; “it’s twenty-nine times
as likely to be another day as the 1st.”
This was too deep reasoning for Betty, so she ignored it and went on
telling about her plans:
“And you see, grandma, we’ll get the band in good working order, and
then they can lead the parade, and we’ll march all about the grounds.
And we’ll have you and the Van Courts and some more grown-up people to
sit on the veranda for to be beholding of us.”
Betty’s grammar had greatly improved under Mr. Mixon’s teaching, but her
sentences were often of imperfect construction.
Although anxious above all things to study music, Betty’s lessons in
that art had not yet begun. The best music-teacher of Greenborough was
away on his summer vacation, so Betty was obliged to wait until fall.
But a naturally quick ear, and a positive talent for time, enabled her
to lead her orchestra successfully.
Day after day the young people met in the Denniston music-room; and such
a caterwauling was the result that Grandma Jean, who had become a
favorite in Greenborough society, made many afternoon calls during that
period.
After a while, though, when they became more proficient, the music was
really not so bad—that is, if anybody liked that kind. It was strong,
loud, and accurate; and what more _could_ be desired in a pop-gun
orchestra?
The number of performers had steadily grown larger, and now twenty
answered to roll-call. Tillie Fenn played the piano to teach the tunes,
and Betty’s baton kept the time true.
Their selections were varied, and contained many street songs and
patriotic airs. Marches were among their favorites. But their grandest
accomplishment was the “Anvil Chorus.” When this was played on fifes and
paper-covered combs, and accompanied by bones and cymbals and rolling
drums and watchmen’s rattles, with pop-guns popping just at the right
time, the effect was truly thrilling.
By the end of August Jack was improving so fast that the doctor said he
might surely walk without his crutches on the first day of September,
though not very far. So it was arranged that he should start out with
the grand parade, and pass the reviewing-stand, after which the
pony-cart would be in waiting, and the rest of the way Master Jack could
ride.
Then preparations went on merrily, and invitations were sent out for the
great affair.