CHAPTER XIII.
THIRTEEN! Marjorie's thirteenth birthday dawned bright and clear.
Her opening eyes rested on some strange thing sticking up at the foot of her bed, but a fully-awakened glance proved it to be a big No.

13, painted on a square of white pasteboard, and decorated with painted four-leaved clovers.
The motto "Good Luck" was traced in ornamental letters, and the whole was in a narrow wood frame.
"That's my birthday greeting from Cousin Jack and Cousin Ethel!" Marjorie said to herself; "I recognize her lovely painting, and it's just like them, anyway.

I'll hang that on my bedroom wall, till I'm as old as Methusaleh." "Happy Birthday, darling!" said her mother, coming in, and sitting on the side of the bed; "many happy returns of the day." "Oh, dearie Mother! I'm so glad I've got you! and I'm _so_ glad you're really my very own mother! Give me thirteen kisses, please, ma'am!" "Merry Birthday, Midget!" called her father, through the crack of the door.

"You two had better stop that love-feast and get down to breakfast!" So Marjorie sprang up, and made haste with her bathing and dressing, so that in less than half an hour she was dancing downstairs to begin her Lucky Birthday.

Her presents were heaped round her plate, and the parcels were so enticing in appearance, that she could scarcely eat for impatience.
"Breakfast first," decreed her father, "or I fear you'll become so excited you'll never eat at all." So Marjorie contented herself with pinching and punching the bundles, while she ate peaches and cream and cereal.
"Oh, what _is_ in this squnchy one ?" she cried, feeling of a loosely done-up parcel.