their seventieth or so, when they become very proud of them once more.
Perhaps they grow like little children again. Wouldn't it be funny to
have, say, eighty candles on one cake? But what cook or baker makes
cakes big enough for that?

Marmaduke wasn't looking so far ahead. All he was thinking about was
his own birthday, which came that fine day, his seventh; and he was
wondering if Mother would put the seven candles on his cake, and if it
would turn out chocolate, which he very much hoped.

About three o'clock of this same day, Mother looked out of the window
and said "Good gracious!," which were the very worst words she ever
said; and Father looked up from the cider-press which he was mending,
and said "By George!", which were the very worst he ever said; and the
Toyman looked up from the sick chicken to which he was giving some
medicine, and said "Geewhillikens!" And whether or not that was the
worst he ever said I do not know. I hope so.

What could they be exclaiming about? _Marmaduke_! He was all
alone as far as human beings went, for Jehosophat was putting
axle-grease on his little red cart, and Hepzebiah was playing with
Hetty, her rag doll, and the rest were busy at their tasks, as we have
just seen.

But he had some fine company, oh, yes, he had. He was giving a
birthday party for the animals.

And this is the way he persuaded all his noisy quarrelsome friends of
the barnyard to come to his party: