"Oh, Josh, do, just this once," urged Christopher, almost falling off the seat in his excitement. "It won't hurt his old knees just for once."

But Joshua was firm.

"I'm not going to abuse your gran'pa's horses," he said severely, permitting the horse to slacken his pace to a walk. "An' what's more, you've got to promise me, honest Injun, that you an' Perk won't let him trot down any hills, nor run races."

"We aren't going down any hills," answered Christopher sulkily.

He looked over his shoulder again and saw Perk appear at the top of the hill, red-faced and panting. With a hoot of triumph, the boy c.o.c.ked his knees over the handle bars and whirled down the hill, letting the pedals take care of themselves.

"Yah!" wailed Christopher, "he's coasting! He'll pa.s.s us like greased lightning." And as he spoke, Perk flashed by them, an exultant grin on his face.

"Ah, you think you're smart!" jeered Christopher in a vexed tone.

But pride always has a fall. As Perk reached the bottom of the hill he glanced back to see how much of a gain he had made, and the wheel of his bicycle struck a large stone in the road. Over toppled Perk on his head, tumbling into a heap by the roadside. Jane screamed and even Joshua was startled. He urged the horse into a trot again.

"Oh, Perk's not hurt!" declared Christopher scornfully. "A fellow can stand lots worse croppers than that."

And Perk was not hurt. By the time they reached him he had scrambled to his feet and was examining his bicycle to see if any harm had come to it. But he rode quietly behind the wagon all the rest of the way into the village.

Billy Carpenter was standing in front of his gate, watching for them, and the impatient Christopher could hardly wait while Perk stowed his bicycle in Mr. Carpenter's barn and Joshua escorted Jane to Mrs.

Parsons' front door.

"You're in an awful hurry to have me go," Jane exclaimed to Christopher, a bit jealously.

For a moment she forgot Sally's birthday party, and wished she was going on the picnic too. It hurt to think that perhaps Christopher did not want her-was glad she was not going. He really acted as if he were!

But her disappointment soon vanished-vanished the moment she set foot in Mrs. Hartwell-Jones's sitting-room. The party planned was so perfect! In the first place, there was the present for Sally-a dainty little bed in which to take her rest when visiting the lady who wrote books. Mr.

Carpenter had found the small wooden bedstead stowed away in a loft over the post-office, left over from a stock of Christmas toys. Letty, with deft fingers, had painted the dingy, dust-grimed wood white with tiny pink rosebuds (difficult to recognize, perhaps, as rosebuds, but very pretty) and had made, with Mrs. Hartwell-Jones's help, a dainty white canopy, tied back with pink ribbons. There were sheets and pillow-cases and even a little kimono made of a sc.r.a.p of white cashmere and edged with pink ribbon.

"Where is Christopher?" exclaimed Mrs. Hartwell-Jones as Jane mounted the stairs alone. "I had a surprise for you all."

"Kit has gone on a picnic with the boys. He didn't want to come to Sally's birthday," replied Jane with a catch in her voice.

"Never mind, dear. Boys seem to like to get off by themselves now and then, don't they, dear? We'll have a little dove party. But I have answered a question of Kit's, however, which now he will miss hearing,"

she added, glancing at a pile of closely written pages on her writing desk.

"Oh!" exclaimed Jane, looking from Mrs. Hartwell-Jones to Letty, her cheeks growing crimson. "You've written the story you promised-just for us!"

"Yes," laughed Mrs. Hartwell-Jones, "just for you. I got my idea from Letty's song and Christopher's questions about it. Shall I read it now, while we are waiting until it is time for the party?"

"Oh, yes, please! And I can be putting Sally to bed."

Letty, who had been in a flutter of excitement all day as she watched those pages of story growing, flew over to the table for the ma.n.u.script, and bustled about, making Mrs. Hartwell-Jones more comfortable and arranging the light.

"Oh, perhaps Anna might like to hear the story, too! Might she come?"

she asked impulsively.

Mrs. Hartwell-Jones said yes, graciously, feeling secretly proud of Letty's thoughtfulness.

"Now," she said, when shy little Anna Parsons had been brought up-stairs and everything was ready, "we must have Letty's song first, as a sort of introduction."

So Letty sang the "Winter Lullaby" again, sweetly, simply, without any thought of herself or how she was doing it, but evidently enjoying the soft, plaintive melody. When she had finished Mrs. Hartwell-Jones took up her paper and read:

"The Tulip's Dream

"Once upon a time a little tulip lived in a lovely big garden. It was the middle blossom of the front row of a bed of beautiful, pale yellow tulips, whose petals shone like the softest velvet. But alas for this poor little front tulip! It had broad red streaks running down the middle of each of its petals, making them seem bold and flaunting and common. And none of the other tulips in the bed would speak to it; they had not even a word of sympathy to offer.

"The lady who owned the garden had taken great pains to have this particular tulip bed planted with just the shade of flowers that she wanted, and it was such a disappointment to have had the very front blossom of all turn out to be so different and ordinary. She used to visit the garden every day with her little daughter. Standing in front of the bed they would discuss the ugly little tulip.

"'I have half a mind to pluck the flower,' she said one day. 'It looks so horrid that it quite spoils the effect of the bed. But all the other blossoms are out and if I took this one away it would leave such a gap.'

"'The flower can't help having red streaks in it, mother,' replied the little girl. 'P'rhaps it feels bad at being different from all the rest! But it is ugly,' she added.

"The poor little tulip drooped its head and pined. It is very, very hard to be thought ugly and different; and harder still not to be wanted. So the tulip drooped and faded and dropped its petals long before any of the other flowers in the bed.

"And when the lady found the red and yellow petals lying on the ground she exclaimed:-'Why, how odd that this tulip should have died first. I always thought that those common, hardy varieties lasted longest!'

"Her little girl picked up one of the scattered petals and stroked it.

"'See, mother, it is really very pretty,' she said. 'I wonder if the flower was not nicer than we thought after all?'

"Although the lady had spoken of the tulip as dead, because the blossom was gone, of course we all know that it was not dead. But that down, down in its brown little root, or bulb, under the warm, moist earth, its life was throbbing as strong as ever. The tulip heard the little girl's words, therefore, and was somewhat comforted by them.

But it still mourned over the red streaks down the middle of its petals, for it was quite sure that it had not meant to be that way, but soft, pale yellow like all the other tulips in the bed.

"'You ought not to take it so to heart,' whispered a gentle shower to the falling petals, and it bathed them in soft, warm drops. 'Your petals are red because the sun has kissed them.'

"But the tulip would not be comforted. It shed its satiny petals and crept down inside its bulb-nest to sleep away its sorrow and disappointment.

"After a time the tulip bulbs were dug up by the gardener and carried away to the cellar to make room for other flowers that would bloom during the summer. In the autumn they were brought out and planted in their bed again, and as it happened, the little red and yellow tulip was put exactly where it had been before. The warm, dark earth snuggled it close to her fragrant bosom and whispered: 'Sleep well, little tulip, and dream that you are the most beautiful, pale yellow tulip in the world.'

"So the little tulip fell asleep and lo, at the first call of the spring robin it waked, feeling very, very happy.

"'Go, tell the sky your dream,' whispered Mother-Earth, and pushed the bulb upward. The tulip shot up a delicate, whity-green stalk through the dark clods,-up, up, until it saw the great, deep-blue sky far above it. The air was sweet and warm and a few early birds were singing. Becoming more and more happy and excited, the little tulip pushed upward and spread its petals to the smiling sky. And lo, they were of the loveliest pale yellow, and shone like the softest velvet!"

Mrs. Hartwell-Jones had ceased her reading for quite a full minute before the children realized that the story was ended.

"Oh!" sighed Jane. "I am so glad that the tulip was happy at last!"

"But what do you suppose made the petals turn?" asked Mrs.

Hartwell-Jones.

"Blossoms do change colors, different years. I've seen 'em in our own garden," said Anna Parsons practically.

"Oh, it was because the tulip wanted it so much!" exclaimed Letty.

"Yes, it was because the tulip wanted it; but there are different kinds of wants, Letty, dear. Some people want things selfishly, just because the things would give them pleasure. But the little tulip felt that it had disappointed some one by being the color it was-and so felt that it was not doing its real duty in the world. So, by wishing and hoping and waiting patiently, it got what it wanted. If it had been a person instead of a flower, of course just hoping and waiting would not have been enough. There would have been work to do, as well.

"But if whatever we want is right, and of some benefit to the rest of the world, we are pretty sure to get it in the end."