by Sophie May
CHAPTER V.
THE PARTY.
I went to bed that night in great excitement, and I dare say did notget to sleep for ten minutes or so. What strange thing was this I wasabout to do?
"Well," said I, "it's only four girls, that's all. I know my mamma 'dbe glad to have me have 'em, but I don't dare ask her; so I'll have'em _'thout_ asking. She says she wants her little daughter to behappy. That's what she says; but she don't give me no pairsol. How'dshe 'spect I's goin' to be happy? But I could be some happy if I hadfour girls,--not a party, but four girls."
The next day was Saturday, the day I had agreed upon with LizeJane. I chewed my bonnet-strings all the way to school, and neverinvited Fel till we got into the entry. At recess I asked Abby Grayand Dunie Foster; that made up the four girls. But when school wasout, I happened to think I might as well have a few more, and singledout Sallie Gordon, Mary Vance, and Anna Carey; but Phebe Grant wasstanding close by, and I knew she would be "mad" if I didn't ask her;and after that I flew about and dropped invitations right and left,till I entirely forgot that I was doing it without leave. "I want youto come to my house, to my party, to-morrow afternoon,"--began tosound perfectly proper.
Instead of speaking _twice_ before I thought, I spoke thirty orforty times. I didn't slight anybody. I asked all the First and SecondReader classes, and the little specks of girls in A B C. They alllooked very much pleased. Some of them had never been invited to aparty before, and didn't know enough to find the way to "my house;"but I thought, while I was about it, I might as well make a cleansweep: it was no wickeder to have a big party than a little one. I wassorry enough that boys were not in fashion, for I wanted a few. Therewas Tommy Gordon in particular, who always had his pockets full of"lickerish" and pep'mints; it was as much as I could do to help askinghim. As for Gust Allen, I would as soon have had a wild monkey, andthat is the truth.
I trudged home at noon, with my eyes looking strange, I know. I haddone my _speaking_, and now I began to _think_. It came over me like alittle whirlwind. I realized for the first time what I had done.
Ruth was hurrying up the dinner.
"Don't come near me, child," said she. "I've got _my_ hands full."
I went into the sitting-room. There was mother on the sofa, bathingher head with cologne. It didn't seem much like having a party! Shecould eat no dinner, and father said she looked as if she ought to bein bed.
"I feel almost sick enough to be in bed," said she; "but I must helpMrs. Duffy put down that parlor carpet. I have waited for her eversince the carpet was made, and this was the very first day she couldcome."
"O, dear," thought I, "where'll I have my party?"
"Can't Mrs. Duffy put the carpet down alone?" asked father.
"No; she would skew it badly."
"But, my dear, you are sick; why not have Ruth help her?"
"Ruth does not understand the business as well as I do; and more thanthat, we have a large quantity of raspberries to be made into jelly.They would spoil if they were kept over Sunday."
Worse and worse! Who was going to get supper for my party?
Then I remembered that wonderful _something_ which Lize Jane hadpromised to bring in the covered dish,--that delicious mystery whichhad been the first cause of getting me into trouble. Perhaps therewould be enough of it to go round, and we could finish off with cake.I began to think it wasn't much matter what we had to eat.
While life lasts I shall never forget that horrible afternoon. Whatcould I say? What could I do? I felt as Horace used to, as if Ishould "go a-flyin'." I ran into the parlor where mother and Mrs.Duffy were putting down the carpet, and hopped about till I got a tackin my foot; and after mother had drawn it out, and I had done crying,I ventured to say,--
"Mamma, there's a little girl coming to see me this afternoon. Are youwilling?"
"This afternoon? Who?"
She might have asked who wasn't coming, and I could have answeredbetter.
I thought a minute, and then said, "Fel," for I knew she liked herbest of all the little folks.
"Very well," said mother, and went on stretching the carpet.
Fel came so often that it was hardly worth mentioning.
"But, mamma, there's somebody else coming, too. It's--it's--DunieFoster."
Dunie was a lady-child, almost as well-behaved as Fel.
"Ah! I'd rather have her come some other time. But run away, dear, youare troubling me. Take the little girls into the dining-room. I wantthe sitting-room kept nice for callers."
I couldn't get my mouth open to say another word. Three o'clock wasthe usual hour for little girls to go to parties, and I flew into thekitchen to ask Ruth what time it was.
"Two o'clock," she said.
"And in an hour would it be three? How many minutes was an hour? Didthat jelly boil fast enough? Did jelly bake all hard in the littleglass cups so you could eat it the same day--the same night forsupper? Was there any cooked chicken in the house, with breastings in(stuffing)? Any sandiges? Why didn't Ruthie make sandiges? Do it veryeasy. Why didn't Ruthie make sailor-boy doughnuts? _I_ could sprinklethe sugar on 'em, see 'f I couldn't."
In the midst of my troublesome chatter Abner came around to thekitchen door with the horse and wagon, saying he was going to mill,and would Tot like to go, too?
"Will you be back by three o'clock?" said I.
"Yes; it won't take me half an hour."
"I wonder what's the child's notion of watching the clock so snug,"remarked Ruth, as I was darting into the parlor to ask if I might goto mill.
As I rode along with Abner, and felt the soft summer air blow on myface, and saw the friendly trees nodding "Good day," it seemed as if Ihad left trouble behind me. What was the use in going back to it? Ihad half a mind to run away.
"I didn't want to stay and see those little girls starve to death. Noplace but the 'dine-room' and the barn to play in! Be tied to thebed-post for it too! Ought to be! Wicked-bad-girl! But would mamma tieme any _shorter_ if I staid away till the moon came up? And then thegirls 'd be gone! Get away from Abner just 's easy! He'll be a talkin'to the man 'th flour on his coat, then he'll look round an' I'll begone, an' he'll say, 'That child's _persest_'; he always says'_persest_,' and then he'll go home and forget."
But stop a minute; what would the girls think?
"They'll think me very _unagreeable_ to go off and leave my party.They'll call me a little lie-girl; they wont ask me to their house nomore."
So I didn't run away. I sat in the wagon, groaning softly to myself.The way of the transgressor _is_ hard. _Every_ way was hard to mesince I had set out to do wrong. It was hard to run off and be called"unagreeable," and very, very hard to go home and face my troubles.
I had not supposed there was the least danger of any one's comingbefore three o'clock; but to my surprise, when we reached the house, Ifound the front entry full of small girls--the little specks in A B C.There they stood, some of them with fingers in their mouths, whilemother held the parlor-door open, and was asking them very kindly whatthey wanted. "Margaret," said she, "these little girls have been hereas much as ten minutes; I don't know yet what they came for; perhapsyou can find out."
THE PARTY. Page 78.]
Poor, sick mother was holding her head with her hand as shespoke. I hated myself so that I wanted to scream.
"Hattie," stammered I, taking one of the tiny ones by the hand, "comeout in the garden, and I'll get you some pretty posies." Of course therest followed like a flock of sheep. But we had hardly reached thegarden before I saw three or four more girls coming. It was of no use;something must be done at once. I left the A B C girls staring at thegarden gate, and ran to the house for dear life.
"Mamma, mamma!" cried I, as soon as I could get my breath; and then Irolled myself up into a little ball of anguish on the parlor carpet.
"Where's the camfire?" exclaimed Mrs. Duffy, springing up; "thatchild's really a fainting off." Mother came to me and took my hands;she says I was so pale that it quite startled her. "W
here do you feelsick, dear?" she asked tenderly.
That sympathetic tone broke me down entirely. My stubborn prideyielded at once, and so did that bitter feeling I had been cherishingso long in regard to the parasol.
"O, mamma!" sobbed I, catching the skirt of her dress and hiding myhead in it, and forgetting all about Mrs. Duffy; "I don't care whatyou do, mamma. You may send 'em home, and tell 'em they didn't beinvited; you may go to the front door and say it this minute."
"It's gone till her head," said Mrs. Duffy, laying down the hammer;"see her shuvver! She nades hot wather till her fate, poor thing."
"I don't care what you do to me, mamma; you may tie me to thebed-post, and sew me up in a bag and throw me in the river. You would,if you knew what I've been a doin'. I--I--_I've got a party_!"
Mother held her hand to her head and stared at me. Just then thedoor-bell rang.
"That's some of the party," wailed I. "And those little bits of girlswere some, and this is some now, and more's a comin'. I'm _so_ gladyou didn't give me no pairsol, mamma."
"It can't be; Margaret, you haven't--"
"Yes, I have too. Yes, mamma, I've got a party! I'm wickeder 'n everyou heard of. Wont you put me in the river? I want you to. O, I'm _so_glad you didn't give me no pairsol."
Mother pulled the carpet and looked at me, and then pulled thecarpet again. She was considering what to do. Ruthie had gone to thedoor when the bell rang; we heard her voice in the entry.
"Call Ruth in here to me," said mother, "and take your little girlsinto the garden."
I knew by that, that she didn't mean to send them home; and O, how Iloved her. It seemed to me I loved her for the first time in my life,for I never knew before how good she was, or how beautiful! Her headwas tied up in a handkerchief, and she wore a faded calico dress and atow apron, but I thought she looked like an angel. I lay flat at herfeet and adored her.
While I was taking my little girls into the garden and trying to play,mother was talking to Ruthie about this strange freak of mine. This Ilearned afterwards.
"I don't like to disappoint all these little children," said she,"and I don't like to expose my naughty daughter either. You see,Ruth, if they find out what a dreadful thing she has done, they willnot like her any more, and their mothers will not let them come to seeher. And that may make Margaret a worse girl, for she needs a greatdeal of love."
"I know it," said Ruthie; "she's got a big, warm heart of her own, andone can feel to forgive such children better than the cold, selfishones; you know that yourself, Mrs. Parlin. Why, bless her, she neverhad an orange or a peach in her life, that she didn't give away half."
It gratified my poor mother to see Ruthie so ready to take mypart. It was more than she liked to do to ask the tired girl to go towork again over the hot stove and prepare a supper for an army ofchildren; but Ruthie did not wait to be asked; for love of mother andfor love of me, she set herself about it with a hearty good-will. I donot remember much that was said or done for the rest of the afternoon;only, I know every single girl came that was invited, and they allsaid it was a nicer party than even Fel's; but Fel didn't care; shewas glad of it. Of course it was nicer, for Ruthie spread the table inthe front yard, and 'Ria was so kind as to adorn it with flowers, andlay wreaths of cedar round the plates. We had cup-custards andcookies, and, something I didn't expect, little "sandiges," with coldham in the middle. But didn't I know it was more than I deserved?Didn't my heart swell with shame, and guilt, and gratitude? I rememberrushing into the house in the very midst of the supper, just to hugmother and Ruthie.
The funny thing, the only funny thing there was to the whole party,was Lize Jane's present. In my agitation I had almost forgotten howanxious I was to see it. She came dressed very smartly in red calico,with a blue bow at her throat. Her hair was remarkably glossy, and shetold us, in a loud whisper, she had "stuck it down with bear's greaseand cologne." She brought her old tin pail, the very one she pickedcurrants in, only it really had a cover on it now, and _that_ was whatshe called "a covered dish." And guess what was in it?
_Pumpkin sauce!_ The drollest looking mess. Dried pumpkin stewed inmolasses. She said I never tasted anything like it before, and I amsure I never did, and never should want to again.
And that was the end of my party. Mother didn't sew me up in abag and throw me in the river, for she was the most patient womanalive. She only forbade my going to anybody's house for a long time tocome. It was a hard punishment; but I knew it was just, and I couldnot complain. My heart was really touched, and I had learned a lessonnot easily forgotten. When I think of that party now, it is with afeeling of gratitude to my dear mother for her great forbearance, andher wise management of a wayward, naughty little girl.