[Illustration: Under the apple-tree]

Of course he knew that his celebration could be nothing like Miss
Hallie's; but he had a vague idea that something would happen to make
the day unusual and delightful. Every night after he had gone to bed,
and when Mammy was drowsing on the doorstep, he raised himself to his
knees, and looked through a wide hole in the wall where the chinking had
dropped out from between the logs. Through this he could see a strip of
sky studded with twinkling stars. One by one he pointed out the magic
seven, repeating the charm and whispering the wish.

It was a long week, because he was in such a hurry for it to go by. But
Friday night came at last; and, as he counted the stars for the seventh
time, the little flutter of excitement in his veins made them seem to
dance before his eyes.

Early Saturday morning he was awakened by Mammy's stirring around
outside among the chickens, and instantly he remembered that the
long-looked-for day had come. Somehow, a feeling of expectancy made it
seem different from other days. He wanted it to last just as long as
possible, so he lay there thinking about it, and wondering what would
happen first.

As soon as he was dressed, Mammy sent him to the spring for water. He
was gone some time, for he had a faint hope that the birthday Santa
Claus whom he had met at Miss Hallie's party might come early, and he
spent several minutes looking down the road.

Breakfast was ready when he reached the house, and he set the pail down