University of Virginia Library

1. CHAPTER I.
SUNSHINE.

“The last day of October!” said the Sun to himself, —
“the last day of my favorite month, and the birthday of
my little namesake! See if I don't make the most of it!”

So the Sun called to all the winds and all the breezes, who,
poor things! had but just gone to bed after a terrible night's
work, ordering them to get up directly, and sweep the sky
as clear as a bell; and bid all the clouds, whether big
white mountains, little pinky islands, sweeping mares'-tails,
or freckled mackerel-back, to put themselves out of the
way, and keep out of it until November; when, as the Sun
remarked with a sigh, they would have it all their own way.

“And as soon as that job's done,” continued he, “you
may go to bed again in the Mountains of the Moon; for
you will only disturb me if you are about.”

So the winds, grumbling and sighing a little, went to their
work; and the Sun, after a good dip in the Atlantic Ocean,
began to roll up the eastern sky, flecking the waves with
diamond spray, touching up the gay-colored leaves still
clinging to the forest-trees, blazing on the town and city
clocks to let every one know how late it was, and finally
thrusting his saucy glances into all the windows to see how
many persons had heeded him.

“Come, come, you city-folks!” cried the Sun. “Your
neighbors in the country were up before I was, and have
eaten their breakfasts, and half cleared it away by this
time; and here are you just beginning to dress yourselves!
Hurry up, I say! hurry up! It is the last day of October,
don't you know? and to-morrow will be November.”

But, at the corner house of a handsome square, the Sun
found himself better satisfied; for through the windows of
the dining-room he saw a lady and gentleman seated at the
table, having apparently almost finished their breakfast.

“That is better,” remarked the Sun: and, thrusting one
of his slender golden fingers through the window, he touched
the stag's head upon the cover of the silver coffee-pot;
glanced off, and sparkled in the cut glass of the goblets and
egg-glasses; flickered across the white and gilt china; pierced

the fiery heart of the diamond upon the first finger of the
lady's left hand, and then, creeping swiftly up her white
throat, played joyously in her golden curls, and even darted
into her soft blue eyes, making them sparkle as brilliantly
as the diamond.

“The sun shines directly in your face, Fanny,” said Mr.
Legrange, admiring the color in his wife's hair. “Shall I
lower the shade?”

“Oh, no! thank you. I never want the sunshine shut
out,” replied she, moving her chair a little.

“Not to-day of all days in the year, I suppose; not on
the birthday of our little Sunshine. And where is she?”
asked Mr. Legrange, half turning his chair from the table
to the fire, and unfolding the damp newspaper beside his
plate.

“I told Susan to send her down as soon as she had done
her breakfast. Hark! I hear her.” And the Sun, drawing
his finger across the mother's lips, helped them to so
bright a smile, that her husband said, —

“I am afraid we have more than our share of sunshine,
or at least that I have, little wife.”

The bright smile grew so bright as the lady bent a little
toward her husband, that the Sun whispered, —

“There's no need of sun here, I plainly see,” but, for all
that, crept farther into the room; while the door opened, and
in skipped a little girl, who might have been taken for the
beautiful lady at the head of the table suddenly diminished
to childish proportions, and dressed in childish costume, but
with all her beauty intensified by the condensation: for the
blue eyes were as large and clear, and even deeper in their
tint; the clustering hair was of a brighter gold; and the fair
skin pearlier in its whiteness, and richer in its rosiness;
while the gay exuberance of life, glowing and sparkling
from every curve and dimple of the child's face and figure,
was, even in the happy mother's face, somewhat dimmed
by the shadows that still must fall upon every life past its
morning, be it never so happy, or never so prosperous.

“Morning, mamma and papa. It's my birthday; and
I'm six years old, — six, six years old! One, two, three,
four, five, six years old! Susan told them all to me, and
Susan said she guessed papa didn't forgotten it. She didn't
forgotten it; and see!”

The child held up a gay horn of sugar-plums fluttering
with ribbons, and then, hugging it to her breast with one
hand, plunged the other in, and offered a little fistful of
the comfits, first to her father, and then to her mother. Both

smilingly declined the treat, explaining that they had but
just done breakfast: and the young lady, dropping some
back into the horn, thrust the rest into her own mouth, saying,
“So has I; but I like candy all the day.”

“Come here, you little Sunshine,” said Mr. Legrange,
drawing her toward him. “So Susan thought I hadn't
forgotten your birthday, eh? Well, do you know what
they always do to people on their birthdays?”

“Give 'em presents,” replied the child promptly, as she
desperately swallowed the mouthful of candy.

“Ho, ho! that's it, is it? No; but, besides that, they always
pull their ears as many times as they are years old.
Now, then, don't you wish I had forgotten it?”

Sunshine's eyes grew a little larger, and travelled swiftly
toward her mother's face, coming back to her father's with
a smile.

“I don't believe you'd hurt me much, papa,” said she,
nestling close to his side.

The father folded her tightly in his arms, lifting her to a
seat upon his knee.

“I don't believe I would, little Sunshine. Well, then,
sometimes, instead of pinches, they give little girls as many
kisses as they are years old. How will that do?”

The rosy mouth, gathering for a kiss, answered without
words; but Mr. Legrange, taking the dimpled face between
his hands, said, —

“No, no! we must go on deliberately. One for the forehead,
two for the eyes, — that makes three; one for each
cheek makes five; and now the last and best for the lips
makes six. Next year, there will be another for the chin,
and, after that, one in each ear: won't that be nice?”

“And mamma? Hasn't Sunshine any kisses for her
this morning?” asked Mrs. Legrange.

The child slid from her father's knee to the floor, and,
with her arms round her mother's neck, whispered, —

“I'll give mamma all these kisses papa just gave me,
and some more too.”

And for a minute or two it would have been hard to say
to which head the showery golden curls belonged, or which
pair of lips was the kisser's, and which the kissed; while the
Sun fairly danced with delight as he wrapped the two in a
beautiful golden mantle woven of his choicest beams.

Mr. Legrange looked on, laughing, for a moment, and
then said, —

“So Susan told you people get presents on their birthdays,
did she, 'Toinette?”

“Yes, papa;” and the child, half turning from her
mother, but still clinging round her neck, looked at her
father roguishly.

“And I guess you knew it before, and didn't forgotten
about it, did you, papa?” asked she.

“Well, yes, I believe I have heard something of the kind,”
said Mr. Legrange, gravely considering; “but, dear me!
did you expect me to make you a present?”

'Toinette's face grew rather blank; and a sudden impulse
turned down the corners of her mouth with a little tremble
across the lips. But the instinct of native refinement and
delicacy overcame the disappointment; and, coming to her
father's side, the child put her hand in his with a brave
little smile, saying, —

“It's no matter, papa dear. I've got ever so many
pretty things up in the nursery; and Susan gave me the
candy.”

Mr. Legrange looked at his wife.

“Your own child, Fanny. O Sunshine, Sunshine! what
are you coming to by and by? But bless me! what is this
in the pocket of my dressing-gown? Let me take it out,
lest it should hurt you when I set you in my lap again.
Funny-looking little box, isn't it?”

As he spoke, Mr. Legrange laid upon the table a long,
flat box of red morocco, with some gilt letters upon the top.

“Yes, papa. What's in the box?” asked 'Toinette, still
with a little effort.

“What do you think, Sunshine?”

“I guess it's some cigars, papa.”

“It would make a good cigar-case, to be sure; but
you know I have one already, and mamma says I ought not
to have any. Let us peep in, and see what else the box
would be good for besides cigars.”

He unfastened the little hooks holding down the cover as
he spoke, and placed the casket in 'Toinette's hands. She
raised the lid, and uttered a low cry; while her face flushed
scarlet with surprise and pleasure.

Upon the white satin lining lay two bracelets of coral
cameos, linked with gold, and fastened by a broad golden
clasp.

“Are they pretty?” asked Mr. Legrange, smiling at the
eager little face upraised to his.

“Oh! they are lovely pretty. O papa! oh! is they?” —

“Yes, they are yours, Sunshine. Mamma said you had
been begging for some bracelets like Minnie Wall's; and so,
as I had heard that people sometimes liked presents on

their birthdays, and as I had not forgotten when Sunshine's
came, I thought I would bring her a pair.”

The excess of 'Toinette's rapture would not allow of
speech; but Mrs. Legrange, peeping over her shoulder,
exclaimed, —

“Why, Paul! those are not what I asked you to get. I
told you common coral beads, strung on elastic, and fastened
with a little snap.”

“But these were so much prettier, my dear, and will be
of some value when she grows up, as the others would not.
At any rate, they are marked: so we must keep them now.
See!”

Mr. Legrange touched a tiny spring; and the upper part
of the clasp, opening upon a hinge, showed a plate beneath,
engraved with the name, “Antoinette Legrange.”

“Yes: they are certainly very handsome; and 'Toinette
must be as careful of them as possible. They will be just
right to loop up her sleeves while she is so little, and, when
she is older, to wear as bracelets,” said Mrs. Legrange
admiringly.

“I may wear them this afternoon at my party, mayn't
I, mamma?” asked 'Toinette, trying to clasp one upon her
little arm.

“Oh, we are to have a party, are we!” exclaimed Mr.
Legrange, raising his eyebrows in dismay.

“Just half a dozen children to play with 'Toinette, and
to go home after a nursery-tea,” explained his wife.

“Oh, well! I shall be a little late to dinner, very likely:
so it will all be over when I arrive. Shall I bring Tom
Burroughs home with me to dine?”

“I want Cousin Tommy to come to my party, papa.
Tell him to come, please, and Sunshine's love.”

“Your party, chick? Why! he would be Gulliver among
the Liliputians. He would tread on a dozen of the guests
at the first step, and never know it.

“I don't think he would, papa; and he's my little wife,
and I want him,” persisted 'Toinette.

“No, no, dear,” interposed Mrs. Legrange. “Cousin
Tom wouldn't want to come, and my little girl mustn't
tease.”

“No, mamma; but he's my little wife,” murmured
'Toinette, going back to her bracelets with a shadow of disappointment
in the curve of her pretty mouth.

“If mamma is willing, I will ask Cousin Tom, and he
can do as he likes about accepting,” said the fond father,
watching his Sunshine's face.

Mamma smiled roguishly, murmuring, —

and then added aloud, —

“Just as you like, of course, papa; but here is Susan,
ready to take 'Toinette for her walk.”

The dining-room door opened softly, and a fresh, pretty-looking
nursery-maid stepped in, saying, —

“Is Miss 'Toinette ready to come up stairs, ma'am?”

“Yes, Susan. You may take the bracelets, pet; but,
when you go out, leave them in the drawer of your bureau.”

“Yes, mamma. Good-by, mamma and papa; and don't
forget my little wife, papa.”

“I won't forget, Sunshine,” said Mr. Legrange, laughing,
as he followed the child and nurse to the door, and
watched them up stairs.