A Birthday Story
If it had not been Maisie’s birthday this story could never have been written. But the day had come for her to be five years old, and, like every child of that age, she could no more help having a fifth birthday than she could imagine having it without a party. At present she was unconscious of all the delights in store, because it was only just dawn, and her curls were still tumbled about her flushed face on the pillow, and her eyes were still fast closed in sleep.
But in a small bed quite close to hers there was a little girl, who was very wide awake indeed, as she leant over with neck outstretched, gazing eagerly at all the beautiful things so temptingly displayed on a table at the foot of Maisie’s cot—presents from every one in the house: Hilda’s box of beads bought with her own money; a long-promised story-book resplendent in bright blue and brilliant in gold; some new furniture for the doll’s house; and a something that glittered strangely—Hilda nearly toppled over in her curiosity to see it. She found it to be a big red cracker with a funny coloured portrait of a smirking crocodile stuck on the outside. “What lovely things!” she thought, “and all for Maisie!”
In two months’ time Hilda was going to celebrate her birthday and be eight years old, and have a fuss made over her. But two whole months seemed such a long way off—such a very long time to wait! Into her dark eyes there came a strange look of envy and longing, and her handsome face with the resolute expression contrasted strangely with her sister’s as she turned anxiously towards the fair little sleeper.
Holding her breath, Hilda crept slowly down on to the floor, stealthily approached the table, and seized the beautiful cracker. “Surely that would not be missed,” she reflected. Just then Maisie stirred uneasily, which brought a flush of shame to the elder girl’s cheeks; but hearing nothing further, Hilda jumped into bed and pushed the cracker under her own pillow. The crackling of the paper woke Maisie, who sat up, and in the middle of a big yawn espied the table, and remembered the great event. “Oh, Hilda,” she exclaimed, “just look!” She was too excited as she handled her treasures to notice that Hilda never stirred, that she only answered shortly, “Yes, I know,” and didn’t even volunteer to say whom the beads came from.
During the whole morning Maisie’s excitement continued; she hopped about everywhere, watching the arrangements for the afternoon party, and chattering about who were coming; so much so, that do what she would, Hilda could obtain no opportunity of being alone so that she might satisfy her burning curiosity as to what was inside the cracker. She had dropped it behind the toy-box in the nursery, and there it lay, whilst all the time Maisie could not understand what made her sister so restless and impatient.
Immediately after lunch, however, Hilda was able to satisfy her longing at last. She picked up the cracker and hurriedly opened it. What first came to light was a big sweet wrapped in a printed motto: “Always do what is right and you will be happy.” She read it with a pang of mental shame, which was quickly followed by one of physical discomfort, for she had popped the sweet into her mouth and now would as quickly have popped it out again, only it was too late, as she had already swallowed the horrid thing, which was filled with a liquid that tasted of bad scent. Making a wry face, she rolled up the offending motto into a tiny ball and threw it into the empty grate. Still, it was soothing to find in the cracker a neatly rolled up packet of pink and green paper, which evidently formed something amusing—a bonnet, a cap, or perhaps an apron. At the same time she drew forth the “cracking thing,” which she loved to pull and hear it go “crack.” But she always did so at arm’s length with her head turned away, and she was too frightened to pull it all by herself.
Their nurse’s voice was heard calling Maisie to come up and be dressed. Hilda, with a guilty, conscience-stricken look, had barely time to throw the useless “cracking thing” out of the open window, and to hide the rest of the cracker in the first thing at hand (which happened to be the doll’s house), when they both entered laughing and carried her off too, to be curled and be-ribboned for the party.
“I’ve seen my birthday cake, Hilda,” cried Maisie, capering about. “It’s booful!” But Hilda still tasted that nauseous liqueur from the sweet, and couldn’t enter into any pleasing ideas of cake.
Ready first, she ran into the nursery, curious as ever as to the pink and green paper bundle, took it out, unfolded it, and found that it would have formed a crown—only it didn’t join together; she had torn it in her hurry. She stamped her foot with vexation, and was wondering if she could stick the two ends together when that tiresome Maisie came running in from the next room with one of her new bronze shoes on to show how beautiful it looked. Quick as lightning Hilda had to hide her secret again.
“What are you doing with the doll’s house? Look at my new shoe!” exclaimed Maisie all in a breath.
And Hilda made a great fuss over the new shoe, and felt horridly out of temper.
Punctually on the stroke of three, the first of the birthday party began to arrive—two little girl cousins, who at once begged to be allowed to see if there was anything new in the doll’s house. Hilda’s heart sank at these words, and she tried to draw their attention away, but to no avail, for Maisie, moving towards it, said they must see the new treasure there. With difficulty and something like a scuffle Hilda, grown desperate, prevented her from opening it, and managed to do so herself, quickly stuffing the bunch of paper into her pocket without being noticed. Much admiration was bestowed on the new addition—a little motor car which had been conveniently placed in the kitchen of the doll’s house ready to take out for an airing the little china lady and gentleman who sat so rigidly and smiled so vacantly in the storey above.
Meanwhile, Hilda was inwardly owning to a feeling akin to dislike for the very thought of that cracker, for the paper was bulging out her pocket, flatten it as she would. She was not happy, for never before had she done anything underhand. In fact she always tried to be an example for her young sister, and she already regretted having given way to the momentary impulse of envy. However, there was no time now for thoughts or remorse, and when she reached the drawing-room she forgot all about her trouble in helping to receive the guests.
Eight little girls were grouped in one corner of the room whispering, with eyes busily engaged staring at one another’s sashes; whilst eight little boys had flocked together and were looking sheepishly from out of an opposite corner. One boy, however—who had been gazing long at Hilda—with heroic resolution detached himself from his kind, and entered the rival camp, where he was welcomed with pleasure and interest. He was a young Highlander, with sandy hair and many freckles, but his attraction was great, for he wore his native costume. The jewelled hilt of a dagger showed above one plaid stocking, and on his shoulder he wore a fascinating brooch with a large brown stone, which was the envy and admiration of all the little ladies present.
Suddenly the guests were all swooped upon by a big lady, Maisie’s mother, mixed up, and disentangled into couples; a piano was set going, and they danced, hopped, and twirled about, wondering if they liked it; the girls thought they did, and the boys were sure they didn’t—all except the Scotch boy, who had constituted himself Hilda’s devoted partner, and was enjoying it immensely. The polka finished, these two sat chatting merrily at the window, when all at once Hilda became silent. She happened to catch sight of something sticking out of the ivy on the sill. It was the “cracking thing” which she had thrown from the window above. Her partner was surprised to see her look as though she were going to cry. She didn’t dare do that.
Just then tea was announced. Weighty recollection of warnings from home-counsellors came to the minds of the children, which warnings, however, conveniently faded away at sight of the good things set forth so temptingly in the dining-room: custards, jellies, and all those concoctions beloved of the youthful interior. But the chief interest centred in Maisie’s gorgeous cake, which had her name and age flowingly written in coloured sugar, surrounded by the most realistic and sweetest of red roses imaginable, nestling in the coolest-looking golden leaves.
Hilda sat by the side of her Scotch cavalier, who had taken her in, and who was much concerned when he found that she had no appetite, but less distressed when he found that that fact did not affect his.
Once during the meal, Hilda heard their mother ask Maisie, as she helped her cut the birthday cake, what was in her cracker, and Maisie replied, as she looked up from her struggles, “What cracker?” but then, in her anxiety to know why Hilda refused to taste any of her cake till the morrow, she did not pursue the subject.
After tea more excitement, for there was Mr. Punch and his company, who were in excellent form.
“Oi, Oi, Oi!” repeated that gentleman for the dozenth time, as he bobbed about aimlessly, in his anxiety to hit the clown and take the patient Toby between his jointless arms.
Later on, the eyelids of the party children began to grow heavy, though the eyes remained unnaturally bright; and tempers became less even and more natural. And so, like everything else, the birthday party came to an end, and “Good-byes” were said with regret. That night cots and beds were not despised, nor did they prove unwelcome for once, for little tired heads were rested gratefully on cool pillows. Maisie was an exception; she tossed about on hers, too happy and excited to get to sleep, whilst Hilda, worn out, lay on her back with her mouth wide open, breathing heavily, and dreaming.
Hilda dreamt that she was alone in a boat on a ruffled lake. On a white flag in the prow was a motto printed large, but upside down. She dreamt that all around the frail craft, which rocked on the stormy waters, were grinning crocodiles wearing broken crowns made of pink coral and green fluttering paper. She crouched low and tried to hide, for she knew that if the horrid creatures found her out she was lost for ever. Land was quite close, but she didn’t know how to get there, because her frock was made of red crackling stuff, which glistened and made a noise whenever she moved.
She felt sick with fright, and sobbed and moaned at her terrible plight, and sobbing, she woke to find that it was quite dark, that the moon was shining on Maisie smiling in her sleep, and that she herself had been dreaming.
At breakfast next morning, Maisie and their mother were already seated when Hilda silently took her place next her chattering little sister; but it seemed to her that their mother looked unusually grave. When Hilda lifted the cover off her bread and milk bowl, Maisie suddenly looked in it and exclaimed: “Oh, how pretty.” But Hilda turned very red, and she hung her head ashamed. For in the bowl there was no bread and milk—nothing but a crumpled red glazed paper with a hateful picture of a smiling crocodile, something pink and green, a tiny paper ball of printed paper, and a stiff thing sticking up—easily guessed at, but now blurred and indistinct to Hilda’s tearful view.
“Oh, Maisie,” she sobbed, “it was your crack—cracker. I—I took it from your table. Do forgive me—I’ve been so—so very miserable.”
And their mother, rising gently and saying nothing, quickly took the proofs of wrong-doing away, whilst Hilda felt Maisie’s arm creep round her neck and Maisie’s kisses on her wet cheek....
And in her repentance her fault was forgiven.
Two months later, Hilda found amongst the presents on her birthday table a lovely cracker made of silver paper with a little heart of real gold attached with a blue ribbon on the outside. And then Hilda ran and whispered eagerly in her mother’s ear, who looked very pleased and kissed her. And Maisie was surprised and happy too, for Hilda put in her hand the lovely cracker with its little heart of gold for her very own to keep.