Birthdays have meant nothing whatever to me, but I made my thirty-second an occasion for a party on “the bottoms.”

I could only accommodate seven guests.  Two were favourite boys and the others were selected because of their great need.  The hut was the centre of a mud puddle that January morning.  I got a long plank and laid it from my doorstep to the edge of the clay bank.  I took precaution not to announce the affair, even to the guests, but a grocer’s boy who had been sent by a friend with some oranges lost his way and his inquiry after me created such a sensation that when he found me he was accompanied by about fifty children.

Old Mrs. Belgarde, my nearest neighbour, had whispered across the fence to her neighbour that something was sure to happen, for she had noticed me making unusual preparations that day.  I think the origin of the party idea came with my first birthday gift—­I mean the first I had ever received—­it was a copy of Thomas a Kempis, given me by my friend the Reverend Gregory J. Powell. [I gave it later to a man who was to die by judicial process in the county jail.]

When the hour arrived a crowd of two hundred youngsters stood in the mud outside.  On the top of the clay bank stood parents, crossing themselves and praying quietly that their offspring would be lucky enough to get in.

I had taught these children some simple rules of order, and when I opened the door I rang a little bell.  There was absolute silence.  They had been actually tearing each other’s clothing to rags for a position near the door.  I told them that I was so poor that I had scarcely enough food for myself.  That the little I had I was going to share with seven of my special friends; of course they all considered themselves included in that characterization.

“Dear little friends,” I said, “I never had a birthday party before; and now you are going to spoil this one.”

Up to this time the crowd didn’t know who the guests were.  I proceeded to call the names.  As those called made a move there was a violent fight for the door.  Some of them I had to drag out of the clutches of the unsuccessful.  Only six of the seven were there.  There was a howl from a hundred throats to take the place of the absent one.

“No,” I said sternly; “he’ll come, all right.”  A roar of discontent went up and chaos reigned.  I couldn’t make myself heard; I rang the bell and again calmed them.  I was at a loss to know what to say.

“Dear little folks,” I said, “I thought you loved me!”

“Do too!” whined a dozen voices.

“Then if you do, go away and some day I will have a party for every child on ‘the bottoms.’”

That quieted the youthful mob and they departed—­that is, the majority departed.  Some stayed and bombarded the doors and windows with stones.  There were few stones to be found, and as it didn’t occur to them to use the same stones twice they used mud and plastered the front of the hut with it.