about her, and they all cried out, "Yes, yes, let us take it to him."
A wild gladness overspread her face. Her lips quivered, her eyes sparkled. Some sudden resolve had come to her. She drew her hand nervously across her eyes; then, turning to the little ones about her quickly, she asked—
"And if I let you take my child, to him—what will you do?"
They were quiet for a moment. Then the elder child, who had spoken before, said:
"I will carry him ever so careful. You can come too."
"I can come, too," she murmured; "I can come, too!"
Silently she placed her baby in the little girl's arms. The children trooped down the hill towards the house, the woman following them with hesitating steps. The children had reached the cottage gate, and the woman stayed without, looking through the hedgerow, and watching her little one with anxious care. One of the children, carrying the baby in her arms, crossed the lawn towards old Holloway's favourite rose-tree, "Marion." There was just room for the child to stand beneath the great covering of green leaves and flowers. Then the other children ran to the porch. They cried out, "Grandfather! grandfather! Many happy returns of the day! many happy returns of the day!"
The old man heard their voices and came to the door. How those children danced and shouted! They got hold of both of his hands and his coat, and, with merry laughter, pulled him across the lawn to his favourite tree. Then every little tongue became still, as though waiting for him to speak. He looked at the picture before him. There, beneath the cover of blossoms, stood a little girl, looking up at him with a face lit up with smiles. She held out to him a baby. Scarcely knowing what he did he took the child from her arms into his own, and covered its tiny face with kisses. He looked round about him, not knowing what to do or whither to turn, but his lips were muttering one name. Again the children took hold of him and pulled him along the path towards the wicket gate. They opened it, and the woman was still standing there, her pale face now flushed, her once dim eyes brighter still.
"Marion! Marion!" the old man cried. She fell on his shoulder, with her arms about his neck. Just then the school bell rang out, and away the children ran up the hill, their voices shouting all the way, "Many happy returns of the day, grandfather! many happy returns of the day!"
The old man, caressing the child as he carried it close to his breast, with his daughter's arms still clinging to his neck, walked up the pathway. The bud on the rose-tree seemed to peep out from all the other crimson blossoms. They entered the house together.
