ing," she cried, seizing the parcel and hugging Esther
at the same time. "And here's something for you. Won't it be fun!
Isn't Anna a dear! I _do_ love her. I fink I love _every_ body."

"Get into bed," commanded careful Esther, and Poppy hopped into her
sister's bed before she even stayed to open her first birthday present.

Esther's gift was a book, which she had bought for her little sister the
last time she was at Gorley. Poppy was delighted. New books, or even old
ones, came to her so seldom. She loved them with such a love as only the
unspoiled child can know. While she was still crooning over it, looking
at the pictures, examining the covers, patting it and loving it as
though it were a living, feeling thing, the other two came flying in,
all excitement. Each held in one hand a letter, in the other a small
parcel.

"Many happy returns of the day. Oh, you darling!" as they caught sight of
Poppy's dark head and beaming face in Esther's bed. "Just look at our
letters,--oh, you have got some too? Isn't it lovely of Anna? I think
she is a perfect dear." Both talked at once, and as fast as their tongues
could wag. "Here's a present for you," said Penelope, laying her parcel
very carefully in Poppy's lap, and kissing her on the top of her curly
poll.

"Jump in too, at the bottom," said Esther; and soon all four were tightly
packed into the little bed.

Poppy's fingers shook as she fumbled with the string. It was a
curious-shaped parcel, and Penelope kept enjoining her to be very careful,
and not to turn it over. When at last she did undo the wrappings, and the
box inside, and found a tiny red flower-pot with a baby cactus in it,
her joy knew no bounds.

"I am afraid you won't care for mine very much," said Angela meekly.
"It is something for your room." But Poppy was equally delighted with the
little blue pincushion, with her name, 'Poppy,' outlined in bright new
pins. "It is stuffed with tiny, soft, beautiful feathers from our own
hens," explained Angela. "I've been saving them, and Anna baked them for
me."

They all agreed that it was a perfectly lovely birthday morning, one of
the nicest they had ever known, and when the presents had been examined
and discussed, Anna's pretty writing-paper came in for a long examination.

"I like mine best," said Esther, and all agreed they each preferred their
own.

"Mine ought to have had poppies on it," said their little namesake; "but I
do like rose