“Of co’se,” answered the old woman, tramping on ahead with her skirts held high out of the dewy grass.

“When’s yoah’s?” he asked, after a pause.

“Well,” she began reflectively, not willing to acknowledge that she had never known the exact date, “I’m nevah ve’y p’tick’lah ’bout its obsa’vation.  It’s on a Monday, long in early garden-makin’ time.”

They had come to a little brook, bridged by a wide, hewed log.  When they had crossed in careful silence, John Jay began again.  “Mammy, when’s my buthday?”

“I kaint tell ’zactly, honey,” she answered, “’twel I adds it up.”  As she began counting on her fingers, her skirts slipped lower and lower from her grasp, until they brushed the dew of the wayside weeds.

“Yes, that’s it,” she announced at last.  “Miss Hallie is nineteen this Satiddy, and you’ll be nine next Satiddy.  A week from to-day is yoah buthday.  Pity it hadn’t a-happened to be the same day, then maybe Mis’ Haven mought a give you somethin’ like Mis’ Alice give Jintsey’s boy.”

John Jay had that same thought all the rest of the way to Rosehaven, but after they entered the brilliantly illuminated grounds he seemed to stop thinking altogether.  It was a sight beyond all that his wildest imaginings had pictured.  He did not recognize the place.  All the lanterns were lighted now, hanging like strings of stars around the porches, and from tree to tree.  Violins played softly, somewhere out of sight, and everywhere on the night air was the breath of myriads of roses.  Handsomely dressed people passed in and out of the house, and across the lawn.  The light, the music, and the perfume made the place seem enchanted ground to the bewildered little John Jay, and when he reached the illuminated fountain just in front of the house, he clung to Mammy’s skirts as if he had suddenly found himself in some strange Eden, and was frightened by its unearthly beauty.

The fountain into which, only that morning, he had thrust his hot little face for a drink, now seemed bewitched.  It was no longer a flow of sparkling water, but of splashing rainbows.  From palest green to ruby red, from amethyst to amber it paled and deepened and glowed.

All the evening he moved about like one in a dream.  The tableaux with their shifting scenes of knights and ladies and marble statuary were burned on his memory as heavenly visions.  He knew nothing of the tinsel and flour and red lights which produced the effect.  He stood about as Miss Hallie told him:  he held a horse in one tableau, and posed as a bronze statue in another.  Then he went back to the fountain, and sat dreamily watching it, while the violins played again,—­in the long parlors this time, where the dancing had begun.

Raleigh Stanford, still in his cavalier costume, and with Miss Sally Lou on his arm, spied him as they passed by.  “Oh, there’s that funny little fellow that was here this morning!” she said.  “We tried to make him talk, but he just kept his head on one side, and was too embarrassed to say anything.”