Free The E. Nesbit Megapack: 26 Classic Novels and Stories by E. Nesbit

opened the door she found herself, as it seemed, in a new world of light and flowers and singing. Mother and Peter and Phyllis were standing in a row at the end of the table. The shutters were shut and there were twelve candles on the table, one for each of Roberta’s years. The table was covered with a sort of pattern of flowers, and at Roberta’s place was a thick wreath of forget-me-nots and several most interesting little packages. And Mother and Phyllis and Peter were singing—to the first part of the tune of St. Patrick’s Day. Roberta knew that Mother had written the words on purpose for her birthday. It was a little way of Mother’s on birthdays. It had begun on Bobbie’s fourth birthday when Phyllis was a baby. Bobbie remembered learning the verses to say to Father ‘for a surprise.’ She wondered if Mother had remembered, too. The four-year-old verse had been:—
    Daddy dear, I’m only four
    And I’d rather not be more.
    Four’s the nicest age to be,
    Two and two and one and three.
    What I love is two and two,
    Mother, Peter, Phil, and you.
    What you love is one and three,
    Mother, Peter, Phil, and me.
    Give your little girl a kiss
    Because she learned and told you this.
    The song the others were singing now went like this:—
    Our darling Roberta,
    No sorrow shall hurt her
    If we can prevent it
      Her whole life long.
    Her birthday’s our fete day,
    We’ll make it our great day,
    And give her our presents
      And sing her our song.
    May pleasures attend her
    And may the Fates send her
    The happiest journey
      Along her life’s way.
    With skies bright above her
    And dear ones to love her!
    Dear Bob! Many happy
      Returns of the day!
    When they had finished singing they cried, “Three cheers for our Bobbie!” and gave them very loudly. Bobbie felt exactly as though she were going to cry—you know that odd feeling in the bridge of your nose and the pricking in your eyelids? But before she had time to begin they were all kissing and hugging her.
    “Now,” said Mother, “look at your presents.”
    They were very nice presents. There was a green and red needle-book that Phyllis had made herself in secret moments. There was a darling little silver brooch of Mother’s shaped like a buttercup, which Bobbie had known and loved for years, but which she had never, never thought would come to be her very own. There was also a pair of blue glass vases from Mrs. Viney. Roberta had seen and admired them in the village shop. And there were three birthday cards with pretty pictures and wishes.
    Mother fitted the forget-me-not crown on Bobbie’s brown head.
    “And now look at the table,” she said.
    There was a cake on the table covered with white sugar, with ‘Dear Bobbie’ on it in pink sweets, and there were buns and jam; but the nicest thing was that the big table was almost covered with flowers—wallflowers were laid all round the tea-tray—there was a ring of forget-me-nots round each plate. The cake had a wreath of white lilac round it, and in the middle was something that looked like a pattern all done with single blooms of lilac or wallflower or laburnum.
    “It’s a map—a map of the railway!” cried Peter. “Look—those lilac lines are the metals—and there’s the station done in brown wallflowers. The laburnum is the train, and there are the signal-boxes, and the road up to here—and those fat red daisies are us three waving to the old gentleman—that’s him, the pansy in the laburnum train.”
    “And there’s ‘Three Chimneys’ done in the purple primroses,” said Phyllis. “And that little tiny rose-bud is Mother looking out for us when we’re late for tea. Peter invented it all, and we got all the flowers from the station. We thought you’d like it better.”
    “That’s my present,” said Peter, suddenly dumping down his adored steam-engine on the table in front of her. Its tender had been lined with fresh white paper, and was full of sweets.
    “Oh, Peter!” cried