In his present state of mind, Tom felt as if he did not deserve a blessed thing; so when every one exerted themselves to make it a happy day for him, he understood what it means "to be nearly killed with kindness," and sternly resolved to be an honor to his family, or perish in the attempt.

Evening brought Polly to what she called a "festive tea," and when they gathered round the table, another gift appeared, which, though not of a sentimental nature, touched Tom more than all the rest.

It was a most delectable cake, with a nosegay atop, and round it on the snowy frosting there ran a pink inscription, just as it had been every year since Tom could remember.
"Name, age, and date, like a nice white tombstone," observed Maud, complacently, at which funereal remark, Mrs.Shaw, who was down in honor of the day, dropped her napkin, and demanded her salts.
"Whose doing is that ?" asked Tom, surveying the gift with satisfaction; for it recalled the happier birthdays, which seemed very far away now.
"I did n't know what to give you, for you 've got everything a man wants, and I was in despair till I remembered that dear grandma always made you a little cake like that, and that you once said it would n't be a happy birthday without it.

So I tried to make it just like hers, and I do hope it will prove a good, sweet, plummy one." "Thank you," was all Tom said, as he smiled at the giver, but Polly knew that her present had pleased him more than the most elegant trifle she could have made.
"It ought to be good, for you beat it up yourself, Tom," cried, Maud.
"It was so funny to see you working away, and never guessing who the cake was for.

I perfectly trembled every time you opened your mouth, for fear you 'd ask some question about it.