Marjorie opened the second box, and this time was not so much surprised to see that it contained another wrapped and tied box. On this one was written:
“Oho, Miss Mopsy, fooled again! Suppose you keep on trying, then.”
“Indeed, I will,” cried Mopsy; “I expect there are a thousand boxes, each smaller than the other, and when I get to the end I’ll find a bright penny, or something like that!”
“If you think that,” said Uncle Steve, “I’ll offer you two cents for the bundle as it is now; and then, you see, you’ll double your money!”
“No siree!” cried Marjorie, “for, you see, I don’t know. It may be a diamond ring, but that wouldn’t do me much good, as I couldn’t wear it until I’m grown up.”
“Hurry up,” cried Molly, who was dancing about, both helping and hindering Marjorie, “let’s see what the next box says.”
On the next box was written:
“Just a hint I’ll give to you; I’m of metal, tied with blue.”
“Metal, tied with blue!” screamed Molly, “What can that be? A hoe, perhaps, tied up with a blue ribbon.”
“What kind of a hoe could you get in such a little box?” said Stella.
“I think it’s a locket,” said Marjorie, “on a blue ribbon to hang round your neck.”
The next box said:
“Very seldom you will use me, But you’d cry if you should lose me.”
“Ho!” said Marjorie, “if I’m going to use this thing so seldom I don’t think I’d cry if I should lose it.”
“Perhaps it’s a something for Sunday,” suggested Molly, “then you’d use it only once a week, you know.”
“Oh, what a funny verse this is,” said Marjorie, as she read:
“I’m nothing to eat, I’m nothing to wear; You can only use me high up in the air.”
“I know what it is,” said Stella, with her funny little air of decision; “it’s a kite! You could only use that high in the air, you know; and it’s that Japanese sort that squeezes all up to nothing and then spreads out when you open it.”
“I believe it is,” said Midge, “only you know it said it was made of metal. But just listen to this next verse!
“I am not pretty, I am not gay, But you’ll enjoy me every day.”
The boxes were getting very small now, and Marjorie felt sure that the one she held in her hand must be the last one, unless, indeed, the gift was a cherry stone. The verse read:
“At last, Dear Mopsy, you’ve come to me! Behold your birthday gift! only a—”
As Marjorie read the last words she opened the box, and when she saw the contents she finished the rhyme herself by exclaiming, “key!”
Sure enough, the tiny box contained a small key tied with a bit of blue ribbon. Marjorie looked at it in bewilderment.
“It must unlock something!” cried Molly.