she had come
to get money for her shopping; or possibly, as she sometimes did, she
was going to select a wedding present downstairs. But if any such
missions stimulated her she was, to judge by appearances, in no haste to
fulfill them; instead she loosened her scarf and sat down as if she had
no other aim in the world than to remain all day.

He couldn't quite make it out.

Then presently the door opened and in came Mr. Rhinehart, Hollings,
McPhearson, and even the old colored elevator man, who every day had
carried him up and down. Mr. Norcross also stole in from his office and
so did the prim Miss Elkins.

Then, to the boy's astonishment, Mr. Rhinehart stepped forward and began
a little speech. At first Christopher did not grasp the fact that it was
directed to himself; but soon, when in the name of all the employees of
his father's firm, the kindly clerk wished him a happy birthday and
handed him a small red leather case, it gradually dawned on him that he
was actually the hero of a surprise party.

The flowers, the tensity that pervaded the shop, his mother's coming to
the city were all because on May twentieth, fourteen years ago, he had
been born. The day had not been forgotten as he had thought. On the
contrary, more people had this time thought of him and taken pains to
let him know it than he had ever supposed cared whether he was alive or
not. And to prove it, they were now giving him a present. Mr. Rhinehart,
Hollings, McPhearson, old Saunders--all of them had had a part in
it--and they said it was because they had become fond of him and admired
him for being so cheerful and patient about his eyes. Their kindness
overwhelmed him and brought a queer, tight, choky feeling into his
throat. He didn't deserve any of the things Mr. Rhinehart said. It
didn't seem to him that he had been very patient. On the contrary, he
had often rebelled inside at being so helpless. How ashamed he was when
he thought of his secret grumblings!

With pounding heart and cheeks that burned he looked down at the red
leather case in his hand.

Think of the men doing this for him! He wanted to tell them how
wonderful he thought it was, to tell them he didn't merit such a gift;
but no words would come.

Then he heard his father speaking:

"I am sure, Christopher, you wish to thank Mr. Rhinehart and through him
the others who have so generously given you this beautiful present."

"I do want to, Dad," cried he, looking up, "but yo