ut." All of which came true; for Mr. Sanderson, ten minutes later,
had bent his head close to the child's lips to hear the better, and had
said: "Only two? Why, Masie, you can have the lot." And that was how the
bare corner was filled with three great palms--the biggest he had in
his shop--and the grand salon of the Grande Duchesse Masie Beeswings de
Kling at last made ready for her guests.

This done, Felix made a final inspection of the room, adding a touch
here and there--shifting a piece of pottery or redraping the frayed end
of a square of tapestry--and finding that everything kept its place in
the general effect, without a single discordant note, drew Masie to a
seat beside him on one of the old Venetian chests. Here, with his arms
about the enthusiastic child, he laid bare the next and to him the most
important number on the programme.

And in this he wrought another upheaval, one almost as great as had
taken place in the room. The time-honored custom of all birthday parties
entailing upon the invited the giving of presents as proof of affection,
was not, he hinted gently, to be observed upon this occasion. "It is
Masie who is to give the presents," he whispered, holding her closer,
"and not her guests."

The child at first had protested. The long procession of guests coming
up to hand her their gifts, and her fun next day when looking them
over--knowing how queer some of them would be--had been part of her
joyful anticipation, but Felix would not yield.

"You see, Masie, darling," he coaxed, "now that you are going to be a
real princess," he was smoothing back her curls as he spoke, "you are
going to be so high up in the world that nobody will dare to give you
any presents. That is the way with all princesses. Kings and queens
are never given presents on their birthdays unless their permission is
asked, but, just because they ARE kings and queens, they give presents
to everybody else. And then again, Masie, dear, if you stop to think
about it, people really get a great deal more fun out of giving things
than they do of having things given to them."

She succumbed, as she always did, when her "Uncle Felix," with his voice
lowered to a whisper, his lips held close to her ear, either counselled
or chided her, and a new joy thrilled through her as he explained how
his plan was to be carried out.

Kling lifted up his hands in protest when he heard of O'Day's
innovation, but was overruled and bowled over before