Years had passed since then--years of peaceful mornings and placid afternoons, and Paul had never appeared. Each purpling of the lilacs in the spring and reddening of the apples in the fall took on new shades of loveliness in the fond eyes of the twins, and every blade of grass and tiny shrub became sacred to them. On the 10th of June, their thirty-fifth birthday, the place never had looked so lovely. A small table laid with spotless linen and gleaming silver stood beneath the largest apple-tree, a mute witness that the ladies were about to celebrate their birthday--the 10th of June being the only day that the solemn dignity of the dining-room was deserted for the frivolous freedom of the lawn. Rachel came out of the house and sniffed the air joyfully. "Delicious!" she murmured. "Somehow, the 10th of June is specially fine every year." In careful, uplifted hands she bore a round frosted cake, always the chief treasure of the birthday feast. The cake was covered with the tiny colored candies so dear to the heart of a child. Miss Rachel always bought those candies at the village store, with the apology:-- "I want them for Tabitha's birthday cake, you know. She thinks so much of pretty things." Tabitha invariably made the cake and iced it, and as she dropped the bits of colored sugar into place, she would explain to Huldy, who occasionally "helped" in the kitchen:-- "I wouldn't miss the candy for the world--my sister thinks so much of it!" So each deceived herself with this pleasant bit of fiction, and yet had what she herself most wanted. Rachel carefully placed the cake in the center of the table, feasted her eyes on its toothsome loveliness, then turned and hurried back to the house. The door had scarcely shut behind her when a small, ragged urchin darted in at the street gate, snatched the cake, and, at a sudden sound from the house, dashed out of sight behind a shrub close by. The sound that had frightened the boy was the tapping of the heels of Miss Tabitha's shoes along the back porch. The lady descended the steps, crossed the lawn and placed a saucer of pickles and a plate of dainty sandwiches on the table. "Why, I thought Rachel brought the cake," she said aloud. "It must be in the house; there's other things to get, anyway. I'll go back." Again the click of the door brought the small boy close to the table. Filling both hands with sandwiches, he slipped behind the shrub just as the ladies came out of the house together. Rachel carried a small tray laden with sauce and tarts; Tabitha, one with water and steaming tea. As they neared the table each almost dropped her burden. "Why, where's my cake?" "And my sandwiches?" "There's the plate it was on!" Rachel's voice was growing in terror. "And mine, too!" cried Tabitha, with distended eyes fastened on some bits of bread and meat--all that the small brown hands had left. "It's burglars--robbers!" Rachel looked furtively over her shoulder.