A FINE CELEBRATION
APRIL had only used up about a week of her showers and sunshine, and the
Jinks Club feared she might send a few of her mischievous raindrops on
their parade, but when the birthday came at last, the weather was quite
as smiling as the faces of the six paraders.
The floats were finished, and though some were the least bit wobbly,
their owners fondly hoped they would last through the line of march.
Miss Hart had agreed to go over to call on Miss Larkin that afternoon,
in order to insure the presence of the Birthday Lady at the right time.
Nurse Nannie promised to have Rosy Posy in gala attire, and ready to
take her part in the festivities.
The fancy costumes had been taken over to Flip’s house, and Mrs.
Henderson was quite willing to assist the little masqueraders in their
toilettes.
Indeed, she said the children looked so pretty, it was too bad they were
not going to be on exhibition at some bazaar or entertainment. Just at
three o’clock the parade started.
Kingdon went first. He was a tall boy for his years, and so Mr.
Henderson’s fur motor-coat just escaped touching the ground. The April
sunshine was a bit warmish, but King valiantly encased himself in his
furs, cap, earflaps, and all, and rather awkwardly stumbling along on
his snowshoes, dragged his float behind him.
The float itself was beautiful. With Delight’s help, King had arranged
an Arctic Region of cotton snowdrifts, from the centre of which rose a
most imposing North Pole. This was white, also, and glistening with the
tinsel frost that is used for Christmas trees. To its top was nailed the
Stars and Stripes, and the flag fluttered proudly as the float wobbled
along. A crowning glory was seen in good-sized lumps of real ice that
nestled among the white drifts. And over these realistic glaciers
clambered white “Teddy Bears,” of which Rosy Posy’s “Boffin” was perhaps
the finest specimen. Also, an Eskimo doll, borrowed from the Maynard
nursery, added local color to the scene.
The float would have done credit to a grown-up, and King pulled it
proudly along, though hampered by his rather unmanageable snowshoes and
cumbersome coat.
“Old King Cole, discovered the Pole,” chanted Delight, as King started
down the Hendersons’ driveway, and then they all took up the refrain and
repeated it with enthusiasm.
The second float was Delight’s. Fairies, of course, as they were her
specialty. She was dressed as a fairy herself, and on her lovely golden
hair rested a gilt paper crown, with tall points. A long gilt wand, with
a star on the end, was her sceptre, and her frock of white tarlatan was
made with many frills, and spangled with gilt stars. Two gauzy wings
fluttered from her shoulders, and her white slippers showed a tiny gilt
star on each.
“Oh, Delight,” cried Marjorie. “You do look too perfectly lovely for
anything! Doesn’t she, Mrs. Henderson?”
“Yes, indeed,” returned that lady, smiling; “but you all look so lovely,
it’s hard to choose among you.”
Delight pushed her float, instead of drawing it, for it was the wicker
baby-carriage that she had borrowed; but so transformed, that not a
speck of wicker could be seen. It was twined and draped with green and
white tarlatan; from its wicker hood, or top, depended filmy curtains,
which were tied back to afford a view of the fairy scene inside. Here,
in a sort of little bower, were dolls dressed as fairies, dancing round
in a magic ring.
But, dainty as they were, no doll was so sweet as Delight, herself, with
her golden hair flying, and her pretty face smiling at the fun of it
all.
Fairy bells hung round the edges of the float, and jingled as it rolled
along.
Delight stepped slowly, lest she run into the North Pole, whose brave
explorer floundered on, guiding his snowshoes as best he might.
Then, after the Fairy Float, came Dorothy, the Flower Girl.
Her mother had fixed up a charming costume from one of Dorothy’s own
pretty little frocks, by sewing tiny artificial roses all over it. A
wreath of flowers on her head made her look almost like a May Queen.
Her float, though not so ingenious as some, was quite as pretty as any.
The old-fashioned flower-stand, of green wire, was filled with growing
spring flowers in pots, and the pots were concealed by smilax and
asparagus fern. The body and wheels of the float were covered entirely
with pink and white paper roses, and the whole effect was of a mass of
blossoms.
Then came Kitty with her Mermaids. This float was the most ambitious of
all, and though a success, it was liable to drop to pieces at any
minute. Kitty had tried to represent the billowy ocean, and her waves
were of dark-green cambric, with wires underneath to make the billows
wave. On this uncertain sea were perched several mermaids. These were
highly successful as works of art, for the spangled green tails, stuffed
with sawdust, looked just like those shown in pictures, and the flaxen
hair of the wax dolls’ heads was truly mermaidish.
Kitty, herself, proudly represented Undine. Some green tarlatan was
draped over her white frock, and paper seaweed hung all over her. A
wreath of artificial water-lilies was extremely becoming, and her long
hair hung in a curly mass.
Altogether, Kitty’s float was wonderful, and she was optimistic enough
to feel sure it would reach home in safety.
“Drive up near the North Pole, Kit,” sang out Flip; “then that jiggly
green ocean of yours will freeze, and there’ll be no danger of its
spilling over.”
“’Twon’t spill,” said Kitty, serenely, and Undine trundled her ocean
along happily, while the mermaids swayed about, and would have fallen
off, but that their tails were securely fastened to the wires.
After Kitty, came Marjorie. Her float was the Birthday Cake, and a fine
show it made.
Like Dorothy’s, the float itself was covered closely with pink and white
roses, for it was so easy to make paper roses, that they could have them
by hundreds. And there is nothing prettier for fanciful decoration.
High up on a rose-covered soap-box sat the cake; white, and
gilt-lettered, and wreathed about with fresh smilax. On it were the
seventy-five candles, not lighted yet, and inside it nestled all the
presents, tied in tissue paper and ribbons.
Midget, herself, wore a fancy costume she had once worn at a masquerade
party.
It was a “Folly” dress, and was in blue and white stripes, with little
bells on the pointed edges. There was a Folly cap with bells on, and the
gay little garb was most becoming to merry Midget.
Last of all came Flip. His wheelbarrow was stunning in its red, white
and blue draperies, and the Plaster Group of noble signers stood firmly
in place as he trundled the vehicle along. Flip wore a Continental suit,
and was supposed to represent George Washington, but as his white
cotton-wool wig proved rather warm, and he was not so patient as King,
he carried the wig and cocked hat under his arm, until he should reach
the party.
And so, his round, freckled face, and somewhat obstreperous hair,
surmounting the brass-buttoned blue coat, rather spoiled the illusion of
the Father of our Country.
“Hey, you!” called out King, from the other end of the parade, “put on
your head-rigging. You spoil the show!”
“Can’t help it,” Flip called back. “It’s too roasting hot! I’ll put it
on when we get there.”
“Hot! pooh!” shouted King, in scorn. “What d’you think of me! I’m
melting in this fur envelope, but I keep it on just the same!”
“All right, keep it on,” returned Flip, amicably, and the incident was
closed.
Slowly, and thoroughly enjoying themselves, the parade moved down Broad
Avenue.
People flew to the windows to watch them, or stepped out on their
verandahs to see them go by. They received great applause, and many
enthusiastic spectators begged them to stop a moment, or came out and
walked by their side to examine the curious floats. At last, they turned
into the Maynards’ place.
Flip hastily clapped on his wig and hat, and the parade marched up the
drive.
“Ought to have had music!” exclaimed King. “Never thought of it till
this minute!”
“Sing,” suggested Delight.
“All right; start her up.”
But asked so suddenly, Delight couldn’t think of anything appropriate.
In a frantic attempt, however, to supply the desired music, she began
“John Brown’s Body.”
Everybody joined in, lustily, and as the front door opened, and Miss
Hart gently pushed the bewildered Miss Larkin forward, a rousing “Glory,
glory, Hallelujah!” greeted her.
“What—what is it all?” cried the amazed lady, as right in front of her
was a strange-looking figure much like a clumsy bear, trying to make a
dancing-school bow, or rather, a dancing-bear bow, without tumbling over
his snowshoes.
“Go on, King!” shouted Marjorie. “March round.”
So King went on, and the parade slowly went round the big oval of the
Maynard front lawn two or three times.
Miss Larkin was fairly enraptured.
“For me! for my birthday!” she exclaimed, as Miss Hart explained it to
her. “Why, I never saw anything so wonderful! Go round again, children,
dear! Oh, you are fine!”
She clasped her hands in ecstasy, and Rosy Posy fairly screamed in
delight.
At last, they lined up the floats in front of the verandah, and then the
six, joining hands, repeated the birthday poem, which King had made up
for the occasion. Kitty thought it wasn’t very poetical, but she had
been too busy with her mermaids to make a poem herself, so they had all
learned King’s. They didn’t sing it, but they recited it in such a
sing-song voice, that it was just as good.
“Larky, Larky!
Harky, Harky!
To our Birthday ode.
While we sing
As we bring
Presents, quite a load!”
It wasn’t very poetical, perhaps, but the enthusiasm of its recital so
pleased Miss Larkin, that she wanted to have it repeated several times,
and her request was obligingly granted.
“Now,” said Marjorie, “shall we have the presentation of gifts first, or
the feast?”
“Gifts,” said practical Kitty; “then the supper, and then it will be
time for the party to be over. If it isn’t, we can play games.”
“You see,” said Midget, who had sidled up to Miss Larkin, “we thought we
disturbed your dinner party, when Mrs. Mortimer was here, so this is
sort of to make up, you know.”
“You dear child!” exclaimed Miss Larkin. “You didn’t need to ‘make up,’
but this is the most wonderful birthday party I ever saw, and I can’t
tell you how I appreciate it.”
“It’s a celebration,” explained Marjorie. “There are floats, you know,
and altogether it’s a pageant, like they have in New York. Isn’t it
grand! And the float that I dragged is your birthday cake. We’re going
to take it in the house to open it.”
“And we don’t think you’re seventy-five years old,” broke in Kitty. “We
know you’re not. But the candles stand for our ages, because we don’t
want to be impolite to you.”
“Yes, that’s all right,” said Miss Hart, heading off any further
allusions to the age of the lady who was receiving all this honor. “Now,
let’s get the cake into the house. Where shall we put it?”
“Well,” said Midget, considering, “if we have the presents first, let’s
open the cake before we go into the dining-room. So let’s take it into
the living-room.”
“Right, oh!” exclaimed King, and he and Flip carried the big cake
indoors and they all followed.
Marjorie and Kitty, as chief hostesses, each took Miss Larkin’s arm, and
escorted her to a seat of honor.
“Now, Larky, Larky—harky, harky!” said King, with a flourish. “We
hereby present you with this beautiful birthday cake, from your loving
friends of the Jinks Club.”
King had discarded his fur coat and snowshoes, but he had grabbed a few
garlands of paper flowers from Dorothy’s float, so that he would still
look in festive array.
“I am overcome,” said Miss Larkin, who seemed really bewildered at this
further compliment offered her.
“Of course you are!” rejoined King. “We expected you to be. We’d have
been much disappointed if you hadn’t been overcome. Now, that’s all
right, so please recover your equilibrium, and we’ll proceed to see what
happens ‘when the pie was opened.’”
“Very well,” smiled Miss Larkin; “go ahead. I can stand it now.”
Then King and Flip lifted off the cover of the big box, and left exposed
the great pile of dainty parcels. Everybody had a gift, and, of course,
Miss Larkin had a great many.
Though not of great value, they were all dainty and pretty little
souvenirs, and Miss Larkin had real tears in her eyes, as she received
one after another.
“It’s like Christmas!” exclaimed Flip, as he smiled with pleasure at the
box of fudge given him by Kitty.
“Don’t open it now,” warned King; “take it home with you; ’cause we’re
going to the dining-room in a minute.”
“All right,” said Flip, “but it looks greedy not to pass it around.”
“No, it doesn’t,” said Kitty; “’cause it’s your present. It only just
happens to be a pass arounder. If it was a paper doll or a hair ribbon,
you couldn’t pass it around. So—you see.”
“I see,” agreed Flip, laying the box aside, but he did feel a little
embarrassed about it.
However, just then Sarah threw open the dining-room doors, and they all
marched out. King offered his arm to Miss Larkin, and Flip followed,
escorting Miss Hart, who, though not taking an active part, was of great
assistance in her pleasant, unostentatious way. The girls followed, and
Rosy Posy toddled along with them.
Ellen and Sarah had really outdone themselves in arranging an attractive
feast. No one had helped them, but the experienced servants knew well
just what to do.
In the centre of the table was a large, round birthday cake, which could
really be eaten. It was covered with white frosting, and in pink
frosting were the initials of Miss Larkin’s name, and the date of the
day, with no reference to the year.
Dainty sandwiches were served first, with lemonade or milk, as the
children chose.
Then there were little fancy cakes, and ice cream, and lovely jelly, and
bon-bons, and nuts, and fruit, and every sort of delicacy that Ellen
considered appropriate.
And then, as a final ceremony, the birthday cake was cut. Miss Larkin
cut it herself, as was appropriate, and as she plunged the knife into
the rich plum cake, she declared she was inspired to make a speech.
“Speech! Speech!” cried King, and they all clapped their hands and
cheered.
“Dear children,” began Miss Larkin, “I think you are the dearest and
best children I ever knew. I think it was sweet of you to do all this
for me on my birthday, and I shall never forget it.”
That was all of the speech, and if it was simple and short, it was also
most sincere and heartfelt.
The children were quiet for a moment—the earnest voice had made them a
little serious—and then Flip said, “Three cheers for Miss Larkin!” and
they gave them with a will.
As the noise subsided, Miss Larkin smiled and said:
“Three cheers for the Jinks Club!”
The club saw nothing incongruous in cheering themselves, so this cheer
was as loud as the first.
Then, the hours had slipped away so fast, it was really time to go home,
so the Jinks Club adjourned, after hearty good wishes and good-byes.
Thomas and James agreed to drag the floats back to Mr. Henderson’s barn,
to stay there until the Jinksies could attend to them.
So, after the guests had gone, the jolly crowd in the Maynard home spent
an enthusiastic hour in discussing every bit of the celebration all over
again, and congratulating themselves on its splendid success.