The sun shone straight into the breakfast room of the Martin House. It sparkled in the glasses of orange juice there upon the table, it glanced across the yellow and blue cloth, caressing the bowl of daffodils, it deepened the gold of the canary in his cage near the window, and it shone upon the early morning faces of the five little Martins. It was a golden morning, it was a cheerful morning, the kind that makes one glad just to be alive. The five little Martins were very much alive as their shining eyes and gay voices told...