"I am twice twelve, and not entirely cured yet; but I try, and don't
mean to wear blue spectacles if I can help it," answered the lady,
laughing so blithely that Marjorie was sure she would not have to
try much longer. "Birthdays were made for presents, and I should
like to give you one. Would it please you to have this little
picture?" she added, lifting it out of the book.

"Truly my own? Oh, yes, indeed!" cried Marjorie, coloring with
pleasure, for she had never owned so beautiful a thing before.

"Then you shall have it, dear. Hang it where you can see it often,
and when you look, remember that it is the sunny side of home, and
help to keep it so."

Marjorie had nothing but a kiss to offer by way of thanks, as the
lovely sketch was put into her hand; but the giver seemed quite
satisfied, for it was a very grateful little kiss. Then the child
took up her basket and went away, not dancing and singing now, but
slowly and silently; for this gift made her thoughtful as well as
glad. As she climbed the wall, she looked back to nod good-by to the
pretty lady; but the meadow was empty, and all she saw was the grass
blowing in the wind.

"Now, deary, run out and play, for birthdays come but once a year,
and we must make them as merry as we can," said granny, as she
settled herself for her afternoon nap, when the Saturday cleaning
was all done, and the little house as neat as wax.

So Marjorie put on a white apron in honor of the occasion, and,