It was when this collection of things really worth having were being moved into their new home under Felix's personal direction that Masie announced to him an important event. They were on the second floor at the time, overlooking Hans and Mike, who had just brought up-stairs the first of the purchase, a huge, high-backed gilt chair, stately in its proportions--Spanish, Felix thought--with a few renovations about the arms and back, but a good specimen withal. The chair had evidently excited her imagination, reminding her, perhaps, of some of the pictures in Tim Kelsey's fairy books, for after looking at it for a moment she began clapping her hands and whirling about the room. “I've thought of such a lovely thing, Uncle Felix! Let's play kings and queens! I will sit in this chair and will dress Fudge up like a page and everybody will come up and courtesy, or I will be the fairy princess and you will be my beauty prince, and--” Felix, who was holding up the heavy end of a piece of tapestry while the two men were clearing a place for it behind the chair, called out, “When's all this to happen, Tootcoms?”--one of his pet names; he had a dozen of them. “Next Saturday.” “Why next Saturday?” “Because then I'm eleven years old, and you know that a great many fairy princesses are never any older.” Down went the tapestry. “Your birthday! You blessed little angel! Eleven years old! My goodness, how time flies! Pretty soon you will be in long dresses, with your hair in a knot on the top of your head. You never told me a word about it!” “No, but I do now. And I am just going to have a party--a real party. And I am going to invite everybody, all the girls I know and all the boys and all the old people.” Felix had her beside him now, her fresh young cheek against his. “You don't tell me! Well! I never heard anything like it! And what will your father say?” Her face fell. “Don't let's tell him! Let's have a surprise.” Felix shook his head. “I am afraid we could never do that, unless we locked him up in the cellar and did not give him a thing to eat until everything was ready. Oh, just think how he would beg for mercy!” Masie rubbed her cheek up and down that of Felix in disapproval. “No, you wouldn't be so mean to poor Popsy.” “Well, then, suppose--suppose--” and he held her teasingly from him to note the effect of his words--“suppose we make him go away--way off somewhere, to buy something--so far away that he could not come back until the next day. How would that do?” “No, that won't do--not a little bit! I've got a better plan. You go right down-stairs this minute and tell him it's all fixed, and that I'm going out this very afternoon to invite everybody myself.” Felix made a wry fate. “Suppose he sends me about my business?”