room. Neither knew or had any sort of idea what the present of the day – their parents' – was to be. Many wonderings had there been about it, for Mrs. Ross had smiled in a very mysterious way once or twice lately, when something had been said about Ferdy's birthday, and the children had half expected to see some veiled package on the sideboard or in a corner of the room, ready for the right moment.
But everything looked much as usual, except that there was a lovely bouquet of flowers – hot-house flowers, the gardener's best – beside Ferdy's plate.
"Oh, I say!" he exclaimed, as he took it up and sniffed it approvingly, "what a good humour Ferguson must be in to have given me these very best flowers. Why, he doesn't even like mamma herself to cut these big begonias. They are splendiferous, aren't they, Chris? I shall take one out for a button-hole, and wear it all day. But oh, Chrissie, I do wonder what papa's and mamma's present is going to be – don't you?"
"I should just think I did," his sister replied. "I haven't the very least inch of an idea this time, and generally, before, I have had some. It isn't in this room, any way."
"No, I expect it's some little thing, something mamma has kept safe in a drawer, a pair of gold sleeve-links, or, or – no, not a writing-case, for she'd know about yours. P'r'aps a pocket microscope or some book."
"Would you like any of those?" asked Chrissie.
"I'd like anything, I think. At least I mean papa and mamma'd be sure to give me something nice. Of course, the present of presents would be – "
"We fixed not to speak about it, don't you remember?" said his sister quickly. "It's a bad habit to get into, that of fancying too much about impossible things you'd like to have."
"But this wouldn't be quite an impossible thing," said Ferdy. "I may get it some day, and one reason I want it so is that it would be just as nice for you as for me, you see, Chris."
"I know," said Christine. "Well no, it's not a couldn't-possibly-ever-be thing, like the magic carpet we planned so about once, or the table with lovely things to eat on it, that there's the fairy story about, though I always think that's rather a greedy sort of story – don't you?"
"Not if you were awfully hungry, and the boy in that story was, you know," said Ferdy. "But I didn't mean quite impossible in a fairy magic way. I mean that papa and mamma might do it some day, and it's rather been put into my head this morning by this," and he touched the riding-whip. "It's far too good for Jerry, or for any donkey, isn't it? I shall put it away till I have a – "
Chrissie placed her hand on his mouth.
"Don't say it," she said. "It's much better not, after we fixed we wouldn't."
"Very well," said Ferdy resignedly. "I won't if you'd rather I didn't. Now let us think over what it really will be, most likely. A – "
But no other guess was to be put in words, for just then came the well-known voices.
"Ferdy, my boy" – "Dear little man," as his father and mother came in. "Many, many happy returns of your birthday," they both said together, stooping to kiss him.
"And see what Chrissie has given me, and Flowers, and cook, and the others!" exclaimed the boy, holding out his gifts for admiration.
Mr. and Mrs. Ross looked at each other and smiled. Neither of them had anything in the shape of a parcel big or little. Ferdy and Christine felt more and more puzzled.
"They are charming presents, dear," said Mrs. Ross, "and ours – papa's and mine – is quite ready. How are you going to do about it, Walter?"
"We had better have prayers first," Ferdy's father replied. "And – yes, breakfast too, I think, and then – "
In their own minds both Ferdy and Christine thought they would not be able to eat much breakfast while on the tenter-hooks of curiosity. But kind as their father was, he had a way of meaning what he said, and they had learned not to make objections. And, after all, they did manage to get through a very respectable meal, partly perhaps because the breakfast was particularly tempting that morning, and mamma was particularly anxious that the children should do justice to it.
Nice as it was, however, it came to an end in due time, and then, though they said nothing, the children's faces showed what was in their minds, Chrissie looking nearly as eager as her brother.
"Now," said Mr. Ross, taking out his watch, "I have just half an hour before I must start. Leila," – "Leila" was mamma's "girl name" as Chrissie called it, – "Leila, you keep these two young people quietly in here for five minutes by the clock. Then all three of you come round to the porch, but Ferdy must shut his eyes – tight, do you hear, young man? Mother and Chrissie will lead you, and I will meet you at the front door."
Did ever five minutes pass so slowly? More than once the children thought that the clock must really have stopped, or that something extraordinary had happened to its hands, in spite of the ticking going on all right. But at last —
"We may go now," said mamma. "Shut your eyes, my boy. Now, Chris, you take one hand and I'll take the other. You won't open your eyes till papa tells you, will you, Ferdy?"
"No, no, I promise," said Ferdy.
But his mother looked at him a little anxiously. His little face was pale with excitement and his breath came fast. Yet he was not at all a delicate child, and he had never been ill in his life.
"Dear Ferdy," she said gently, "don't work yourself up so."
Ferdy smiled.
"No, mamma," he replied, though his voice trembled a little. "It is only – something we've tried not to think about, haven't we, Chrissie? Oh," he went on, turning to his sister, and speaking almost in a whisper, "do you think it can be – you know what?"
Christine squeezed the hand she held; that was all she could reply. Though her face had got pink instead of pale like Ferdy's, she was almost as "worked up" as he was.
There was not long to wait, however. Another moment and they were all three standing in the porch, and though Ferdy's eyes were still most tightly and honourably shut, there scarcely needed papa's "Now," or the "Oh!" which in spite of herself escaped his sister, to reveal the delightful secret. For his ears had caught certain tell-tale sounds: a sort of "champing," and a rustle or scraping of the gravel on the drive which fitted in wonderfully with the idea which his brain was full of, though he had honestly tried to follow his sister's advice and not "think about it."
What was the "it"?
A pony – the most beautiful pony, or so he seemed to Ferdy and Christine at any rate – that ever was seen. There he stood, his bright brown coat gleaming in the May sunshine, his eager but kindly eyes looking as if they took it all in as he rubbed his nose on Mr. Ross's coat-sleeve and twisted about a little, as if impatient to be introduced to his new master.
"Papa, mamma!" gasped Ferdy, with a sort of choke in his throat, and for a moment – what with the delight, and the sudden opening of his eyes in the strong clear sunshine – he felt half dazed. "Papa, mamma, a pony of my very own! And Chrissie can ride him too. He is a pony a girl can ride too, isn't he?" with a touch of anxiety.
"He is very gentle, and he has no vices at all," said his father. "I am quite sure Chrissie will be able to ride him too. But you must get to know him well in the first place."
Ferdy was out on the drive by this time, his face rosy with delight, as he stood by his father patting and petting the pretty creature. The pony was all saddled and bridled, ready for Ferdy to mount and ride "over the hills and far away." The boy glanced up at Mr. Ross, an unspoken request trembling on his lips.
"Yes," said his father, seeing it there and smiling. "Yes, you may mount him and ride up and down a little. He'll be all right," he added, turning to the coachman, who had been standing by and enjoying the whole as much as any of them.
"Oh yes, sir. He's a bit eager, but as gentle as a lamb," the man replied.
"And this afternoon," Ferdy's father continued, "if I can get home between four and five, I'll take you a good long ride – round by Durnham and past by Mellway Sight, where you have so often wanted