“I don’t believe that’s a new game,” said her mother. “I’m sure I’ve seen it played, too often. But it’s time for the cake. Straighten up the chairs and I’ll go and get it.” Seated round the table, and left alone with the cake, the lighted candles, and the ice cream, the children found much to discuss. “Ten candles,” said Alec, counting them carefully. “I had thirteen on mine, last birthday,” said Phyllis, the oldest of the girls. “That’s nothing, so did I,” said Ben. “Your cook’s clever,” said Ruth. “She’s marked the places to cut, with icing, so you can make all the pieces even.” “I think it was foolish of her,” said Martin, “because Bunny is quite a small child still; if she has too much chocolate she comes out in spots.” Bunny and Joyce, at the other end of the table, looked at each other fleetingly, in a tacit alliance of juniority. Joyce was also seven, a dark little elf, rather silent. “Why don’t you blow out the candles?” shrilled Bunny. This effectively altered the topic. After the sudden hurricane had ceased, Martin began to cut, obediently following the white spokes of sugar. “I wonder what it feels like to be grown up?” said Alec. “I guess we’ll know if we wait long enough,” said Phyllis. “How old do you have to be, to be grown up?” asked Ruth. “A man’s grown up when he’s twenty-one,” Ben stated firmly. “Is Daddy twenty-one?” said Bunny. Cries of scorn answered this. “Of course he is,” said Martin. “Daddy’s middle-age, he’s over thirty. He’s what they call _primeoflife_, I heard him say so.” “That’s just before your hair begins to come out in the comb,” said Alec. Bunny was undismayed, perhaps encouraged by seeing in front of her more ice cream than she had ever been left alone with before. “Daddy _isn’t_ grown up,” she insisted. “The other day when we played blind man’s buff on the beach, Mother said he was just a big boy.” “Girls grow up quicker,” said Phyllis. “My sister’s eighteen, she’s so grown up she’ll hardly speak to me. It happened all at once. She went for a week-end party, when she came back she was grown up.” “That’s not grown up,” said Ben. “That’s just stuck up. Girls get like that. It’s a form of nervousness.” They were not aware that Ben had picked up this phrase by overhearing it applied to some eccentricities of his own. They were impressed, and for a moment the ice cream and cake engaged all attentions. Then a round of laughter from the veranda reopened the topic. “Why do men laugh more than ladies?” asked Bunny. “It must be wonderful,” said Martin. “You bet!” said Ben. “Think of having long trousers, and smoking a pipe, blowing rings, going to town every day, going to the bank and getting money----” “And all the drug stores where you can stop and have sodas,” said Ruth. “Sailing a boat!” “Going shopping!” “The circus!” shouted Bunny.