Joyce’s gaze was riveted on the mouse. She remembered the ominous click in its vitals, when she had been giving it an ecstatic trial. But perhaps Martin, with the magic boys have in these matters, could make it go again, as it went--so thrillingly, in mouselike darts and curves--on the cigar-store floor. Martin put it down, giving it a deft push. It ran a few inches and stopped. “It runs fine,” he said hastily. “But it won’t go here on the rug.” “Let’s see it,” said Ben, whose mechanical sense was not satisfied by so brief an exhibition. “It’s mine,” snapped Martin fiercely, and put it in his pocket. “We really must go,” said someone. “Would you each like a piece of Martin’s cake to take home?” “Oh, no, thank you, I think they’ve had plenty.” “Did you make a wish?” “No, we forgot,” said Martin. “Oh, what a pity. When you blow out the candles on a birthday cake you should always make a wish.” “Will it come true?” “If it’s a nice wish.” “Light them again and do it now,” said one of the parents. The drill must be finished. “Yes, do, before the children go.” “Will it work if you light them again?” asked Martin doubtfully. “Every bit as well.” The ten candles were reassembled on the remaining sector of cake, and Martin, feeling very self-conscious, stood by while they were relit. His guests were pushed forward. “All ready? Blow!” There was a loud puffing. Bunny’s blast, a little too late, blew a fragrant waver of smoke into his face. “Did you wish?” “Yes,” said Martin, “I----” “You mustn’t tell it! If you tell, it won’t come true.” But he hadn’t wished, yet. He wanted to wait a moment, to get it just right. As the children turned away, trooping toward the door, Martin made one hasty movement that no one saw. With a quick slice of the sharp cake-knife he cut off the tail of the plush mouse. Now it would always serve to remind him of the tailless mice in the room that was no longer a nursery. Then, with the snuff of smoking candles still in his nose, he wished. II “Dear Miss Clyde,” wrote Mrs. Granville, “it will be so nice to meet you again after all these years. You can imagine my surprise when I found that the house Mr. Granville has taken for the summer is the old Richmond place, which I remember so well from long ago. Twenty-one years, isn’t it? It hasn’t changed a bit, but everything seems so much smaller, even the ocean somehow. The house has been shut up a long time, since the summer the Richmonds went away. We want you to join our Family Picnic, which is always an amusing affair. Mr. Granville admires your work so much, I did not realize until recently that you must be the same person I knew as a child. There are other artists here too, the Island has become quite a summer camp for painters, the woods are full of them, painting away merrily. I am sorry this is so late, but just send us a wire saying you can come....”