In his present state of mind, Tom felt as if he did not
deserve a blessed thing; so when every one exerted themselves to
make it a happy day for him, he understood what it means "to be
nearly killed with kindness," and sternly resolved to be an honor to
his family, or perish in the attempt. Evening brought Polly to what
she called a "festive tea," and when they gathered round the table,
another gift appeared, which, though not of a sentimental nature,
touched Tom more than all the rest. It was a most delectable cake,
with a nosegay atop, and round it on the snowy frosting there ran a
pink inscription, just as it had been every year since Tom could
remember.
"Name, age, and date, like a nice white tombstone," observed
Maud, complacently, at which funereal remark, Mrs. Shaw, who
was down in honor of the day, dropped her napkin, and demanded
her salts.
"Whose doing is that?" asked Tom, surveying the gift with
satisfaction; for it recalled the happier birthdays, which seemed
very far away now.
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