taking Kitty in her arms, went out to enjoy herself. Three swings on
the gate seemed to be a good way of beginning the festivities; but
she only got two, for when the gate creaked back the second time, it
stayed shut, and Marjorie hung over the pickets, arrested by the
sound of music.

"It's soldiers," she said, as the fife and drum drew nearer, and
flags were seen waving over the barberry-bushes at the corner.

"No; it's a picnic," she added in a moment; for she saw hats with
wreaths about them bobbing up and down, as a gayly-trimmed hay-cart
full of children came rumbling down the lane.

"What a nice time they are going to have!" thought Marjorie, sadly
contrasting that merry-making with the quiet party she was having
all by herself.

Suddenly her face shone, and Kitty was waved over her head like a
banner, as she flew out of the gate, crying, rapturously,--

"It's Billy! and I know he's come for me!"

It certainly WAS Billy, proudly driving the old horse, and beaming
at his little friend from the bower of flags and chestnut-boughs,
where he sat in state, with a crown of daisies on his sailor-hat and
a spray of blooming sweetbrier in his hand. Waving his rustic
sceptre, he led off the shout of "Happy birthday, Marjorie!" which
was set up as the wagon stopped at the gate, and the green boughs
suddenly blossomed with familiar faces, all smiling on the little
damsel, who stood in the lane quite overpowered with delight.