THE BOY WITH EIGHT BIRTHDAYS
One afternoon the puppy was not to be found anywhere. Bobby returned to
the front yard at Mr. Eller's, after a vain search for his playmate,
and found that _that_ day was a very special occasion.
The grown-ups, and the children, too, were celebrating something which
seemed to be called a "birthdays." It belonged to Richard, the small
son of the Man Who Lets You Play with the Puppy. It was the boy's
eighth birthdays, and he was very proud of that fact.
There was ice-cream--enough so that Bobby's dish was heaped full a
second time without asking and before he had quite finished the first
helping--and cake and two big red and white apples for each child.
Bobby was still munching contentedly away at his first apple, the other
clutched tightly in his left hand, when Richard's mothers led the
children into the house to see the "presents."
There was quite an array of them--enough Bobby decided for all eight
birthdays and he vaguely wondered if all eight of them had come on that
one day. There was a baseball, and a bat, a dozen marbles--"glassies"
Richard called them, presents it seemed from his fathers; a nice, new,
starchy white blouse with blue trousers, a gift from his mothers. Then
there was a pair of high boots with a copper plate on the point of each
toe, sent him by his Uncle John in the city.
Last of all there was something out at the barn which was to be sold
when "they" grew up and help to buy something for Richard some day
which his fathers never had--"an edge-cation."
"They" proved to be six little pigs with curly tails and squealy
voices. Bobby wondered if Richard wouldn't grow up before they did, he
was so much bigger, and then what would become of his edge-cation?
He fell to wondering about this thing called a birthdays. As near as he
could make out, it was a very special day on which everybody--at least
your fathers and mothers, if you had such possessions--unaccountably
gave you playthings that you had always wanted, such as "glassies" and
baseballs and, yes, little curly-tailed pigs that were to help buy you
an edge-cation.
He decided he wanted a birthdays, but didn't know the least thing
about how to go about it to get one. He determined to ask and went
immediately to Richard who, having eight birthdays of his own, must be
an authority on the matter.
"Where did you get your birthdays?" he asked in what he thought was a
very loud voice, but apparently it wasn't for Richard said "Huh?" and
for a moment stopped trying to straighten the curls out of the tails of
the little pigs. Bobby repeated his question and added wistfully:
"Never had none."
"You have, too," said Richard.
"Ain't not," said Bobby resolutely.
"You have, too," repeated Richard.
Bobby fell silent under that assertion and tried to remember when
anybody had ever given him presents. He could recall no such occasion.
Then an explanation came to him.
"P'raps," he suggested timidly, "you only have birthdays when you have
fathers and mothers and things like that."
"Everybody has birthdays," said Richard from the lofty peak of his
superior years.
Bobby again remained silent and Richard, to add the final, crushing
blow, gave further information.
"Everybody has fathers and mothers, _some_ time."
"P'raps I'm not big enough yet to have fathers and mothers and
birthdays. How big will I have to be?"
Richard snorted in derision.
"_They_ have _you_," he said and turned his attention to straightening
out the curls from his pigs' tails.
Bobby did not understand, but felt that somehow he was in the wrong,
and he went off a ways by himself and took the first comforting bite
out of his other apple, carefully choosing the side with the most red
on it.
After a time Richard convinced himself that the kink was a part of the
pig's tail and stopped trying to uncurl it. Then his eye fell on Bobby
and he scowled fiercely.
"Everybody has birthdays," he said. "What you done with yours?"
"Not done nothing with it," replied Bobby. Then, after a time, "Never
had none."
"Papa," called Richard to the Man Who Lets You Play with the Puppy,
"Bobby says he hasn't got a birthday. Everybody has birthdays, haven't
they, papa?"
Mr. Eller was talking with his wife and paid no attention.
"Everybody has birthdays, haven't they, papa?" This time Richard yelled
so loud his father couldn't help hearing.
"Yes, of course," he replied carelessly.
"There, I told you so!" said Richard.
"Ain't not," insisted Bobby stubbornly, and hunted out another red spot
on his apple.
Richard seemed to take Bobby's words as a personal affront.
"Papa, he has too, hasn't he, papa?"
"Has what?" asked Mr. Eller impatiently.
"Bobby has too a birthday, hasn't he?"
"Everybody has a birthday," replied his father.
"I told you so! I told you so!" chanted Richard, skipping about. "Bobby
North has lost his birthday! Bobby North has lost his birthday and
don't know where to find it!"
"Ain't not," repeated Bobby and his lower lip began to twist up.
"Wouldn't lose a 'portant thing like a birthdays."
Mr. Eller and his wife approached the children. That capable woman put
her hand on Bobby's head.
"Haven't they ever celebrated your birthday at the Home?" she asked.
"Perhaps they don't know when it is," Mr. Eller suggested in a low
voice to his wife.
"Couldn't lose it, could I?" appealed Bobby to the Man Who Lets You
Play with the Puppy.
"Some children lose their birthday before they are big enough to know
what it is," comforted Mr. Eller.
"Bobby North has lost his birthday and don't know where to find it!"
chanted Richard in derision.
"Ain't not," repeated Bobby dismally.
"That will do, Richard," said Mr. Eller severely. "Go and play
pump-pump-pull-away with the other children."
"Yes, sir," said Richard and went obediently off, turning back only
once to make a face at the boy who had lost his birthday.
"Never mind, Bobby," said Mr. Eller. "You'll find it some day."
"When I get growed up?"
"Perhaps sooner. I'll see the Superintendent. We may be able to find it
for you."
"Could _I_ find it if I hunted and hunted all day long, like the
spoon?" queried Bobby eagerly.
The Man Who Lets You Play with the Puppy laughed.
"Don't worry about your birthday, Bobby. You'll stumble across it some
day when you are walking along and not thinking about it."
"It won't matter if you don't, dear," said Mrs. Eller. "Folks will love
you just the same."
"No'm," said Bobby skeptically, replying to her first statement, and
retiring under a tree to puzzle over the matter and consume the rest of
the apple. The other children were playing their games and Mr. and Mrs.
Eller soon went into the house.
Bobby decided that the lady, Richard's mothers, didn't know the
importance of a birthdays, whereas _nothing_ could be more important.
Birthdays brought little boys all the things they had always wanted,
like "glassies" and baseball bats and little pigs. He knew he wanted
the "glassies" and the bat and wasn't quite sure but that he might
want the pigs to help buy an edge-cation when he grew to be as big as
Richard's fathers who said he wished that he had one.
If he had really lost his birthdays _himself_, he might find it as
he did the spoon which he lost in the yard one day. The Supe'tendent
made him hunt and hunt for it till he couldn't see for the water in
his eyes. And then, suddenly, he stepped on it when he wasn't thinking
about it and bent it all twisty-like. What if he should step on his
birthdays and bend it just as he had the spoon? He must be very careful
where he stepped. Didn't the Man Who Lets You Play with the Puppy say
he would find his birthdays some time when he was walking along and not
thinking about it?
He wanted very much to find his birthdays; so he must be up and about
it. He would start at once; he might find it before night and would
show that Richard that he _did_ know where to find his birthdays. He
knew that he could walk ever so far, but was not so sure that he could
keep from thinking about what he was looking for. It was worth trying
anyway. If only he might step on his birthdays! He must be careful
though not to step on it with all his weight and bend it as he did the
spoon--it might be harder to straighten it out.
He rose and started for the road. The other children were too busy with
their playing to notice him. Stepping lightly, with eyes fixed on the
ground, Bobby trudged out through the yard into the road.
So he started out on his strange quest.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]