CHAPTER XXX THE BIRTHDAY PARTY.
A dancing floor had been laid upon a platform in the yard, when Mrs.
Schofield and her son arrived at their own abode; and a white and scarlet striped canopy was in process of erection overhead, to shelter the dancers from the sun.

Workmen were busy everywhere under the direction of Margaret, and the smitten heart of Penrod began to beat rapidly.

All this was for him; he was Twelve! After lunch, he underwent an elaborate toilette and murmured not.

For the first time in his life he knew the wish to be sand-papered, waxed, and polished to the highest possible degree.

And when the operation was over, he stood before the mirror in new bloom, feeling encouraged to hope that his resemblance to his father was not so strong as Aunt Sarah seemed to think.
The white gloves upon his hands had a pleasant smell, he found; and, as he came down the stairs, he had great content in the twinkling of his new dancing slippers.