It was a long week, because he was in such a hurry for it to go by.  But Friday night came at last; and, as he counted the stars for the seventh time, the little flutter of excitement in his veins made them seem to dance before his eyes.

Early Saturday morning he was awakened by Mammy’s stirring around outside among the chickens, and instantly he remembered that the long-looked-for day had come.  Somehow, a feeling of expectancy made it seem different from other days.  He wanted it to last just as long as possible, so he lay there thinking about it, and wondering what would happen first.

As soon as he was dressed, Mammy sent him to the spring for water.  He was gone some time, for he had a faint hope that the birthday Santa Claus whom he had met at Miss Hallie’s party might come early, and he spent several minutes looking down the road.

Breakfast was ready when he reached the house, and he set the pail down in such a hurry that some of the water slopped out on his bare toes.  His wistful eyes scanned the table quickly.  There was a better breakfast than usual—­bacon and eggs this morning.  There was no napkin on the table under which some gift might lie in hiding, but remembering Miss Hallie’s other experiences, he pulled out his chair.  A little shade of disappointment crept into his face when he found it empty.

After he had speared a piece of bacon with his two-tined fork, and landed it safely on his plate, he rolled his eyes around the table.  “Did you know this is my buthday, Mammy?” he asked.  “I’m nine yeahs ole to-day.”

“That’s so, honey,” she answered, cheerfully.  “You’se gettin’ to be a big boy now, plenty big enough to keep out o’ mischief an’ take keer o’ yo’ clothes.  I’ll declare if there isn’t anothah hole in yo’ shirt this blessed minute!”

The lecture that followed was not of the gala-day kind, but John Jay consoled himself by thinking that he would probably have had a cuffing instead had it happened on any other day.

After breakfast Mammy went away to do a day’s scrubbing at Rosehaven.  The children spent most of the morning in watching the road.  Every cloud of dust that tokened an approaching traveller raised a new hope.  Many people went by on horses or in carriages.  Once in a while there was a stray bicycler, but nobody turned in towards the cabin.

After a while, in virtue of its being his especial holiday, John Jay ordered the smaller children to stay in the yard, while he took a swim in the pond.  But the pleasure did not last long.  He could only splash and paddle around dog-fashion, and the sun burnt his back so badly that he was glad to get out of the water.

Afternoon came, and nothing unusual had happened, but John Jay kept up his courage and looked around for something to do to occupy the time.  A wide plank leaned up against the little shed at one side of the cabin.  It made him think of Uncle Billy’s cellar door, where he had spent many a happy hour sliding.