The morning had opened most favorably in the Copley home, with
everybody in good spirits. At the breakfast table Cornelia had
informed the male portion of the family quite casually that there
was to be a birthday supper and they must all come promptly home and
dress up for it and Harry had given a grave wink at Louise which
almost convulsed her.
Carey was in charming spirits. When he awoke, he had found two new
shirts and two pairs of silk socks by his bedside “with love from
Cornelia,” and a handkerchief and necktie apiece from each of the
children; and he came down with uproarious thanks to greet them. Mr.
Copley, thus reminded of the occasion got up before he had finished
his first cup of coffee, and went into the living room to the desk.
When he came back, he carried a check in his hand made out to Carey.
“There, son, that’s from mother and me for that new suit you need,”
he said in a voice warm with feeling. “I meant to get around to it
last night, but somehow the date slipped me.”
And Carey taken unaware, was almost embarrassed, rising with the
check in his hand and his color coming and going like a girl.
“Why Dad! Really, Dad! You ought not to do this now. I’m an old chump
that I haven’t earned one long ago. Take it back, Dad; you’ll need it
for mother. I’ll take the thought just the same.”
“No, that’s all right, son; you earn the next one,” said the father
with a touch on his son’s arm almost like a caress.
And so the little party separated with joy on every face, and went
their separate ways. Carey was still working at the garage. He had
been secretly saving up to buy a second-hand automobile that he knew
was for sale, excusing the desire by saying it would be good for his
mother to ride in when she came home; but now he suddenly saw that
his ambition was selfish and that what he must first do was to get a
job where he could help his father and pay his board at home. To that
end he resolved to hand twenty-five dollars to Cornelia that very
night if he could get it out of Pat, and start the new year aright,
telling her it was board money.
He promised most solemnly to be at home in time to “fix up” before
supper, and Cornelia went about the day’s preparations with a light
heart. There seemed a reasonable amount of hope that the young man
himself would be likely to be on hand at his own birthday party.
Having secured the two most likely sources of other engagements,
Clytie and Brand, there didn’t seem much else that could happen to
upset her plans.
The birthday cake had been a regular angel the way it rose and stayed
risen when it got there, and blushed a lovely biscuit brown, and
took its icing smoothly. It was even now reposing in state in the
bread-box ready for its candles, which Louise was to add when she
returned from school at noon. Both children were coming home at
noon, and Harry was not going to the grocery that day.
Cornelia had put the whole house in apple-pie order the day before,
made the cake and the gelatin salad, and had done all the marketing.
The day looked easy ahead of her. She set the biscuit, and tucked
them up in a warm corner, washed the spinach in many waters, and left
it in its last cold bath getting crisp, with the lettuce in a stone
jar doing the same thing. Then she sat down with a silver spoon, a
sharp knife, a big yellow bowl, and a basket of fruit to prepare the
fruit cocktail.
While she was doing this, Grace Kendall ran in with her arms full
of lovely roses that had been sent to her mother that morning. She
said her mother wished to share them with the Copleys. Grace put the
flowers into water and sat down with another spoon to help. Before
long the delicious pink and gold mixture was put away on the ice all
ready for night. Grace helped scrape the potatoes and dust the living
room, then went home promising to be on hand early and help entertain
the strange guests. Somehow Grace seemed to understand all about
both of them and to be tremendously interested in the whole affair.
Cornelia went about her pretty living room putting the last touches
everywhere, setting a blue bowl of roses at just the right angle on
the table, putting an especially lovely half-open bud in a tall,
slender glass on the bookcase, pushing a chair into place, turning a
magazine and a book into inviting positions. She kept thinking how
glad she was for this new girl friend, this girl who, though a little
younger, yet seemed to understand so well. She sighed as she touched
the roses lovingly, and recognized a fleeting impossible wish that
her brother might have chosen to be interested in a girl like this
one instead of the gum-chewing, ill-bred child with whom he seemed to
be pairing off.
The children were so excited when they arrived at noon that she
had difficulty in persuading them to eat any lunch. They ate the
sandwiches and drank the milk she had set out for them, in one
swallow, it seemed to her; and then they flew to the tasks that had
been assigned to them. Harry brought in armfuls of wood and stowed
them neatly away in the big locker by the fireside, and built up a
beautifully scientific fire ready to light. It was a lovely warm
spring day, but with all the windows open in the evening a good
fire in the fireplace would be quite acceptable and altogether too
charming to omit. He swept the hearth, and then went out and scrubbed
the front steps, swept the front walk, and mowed the little patch of
lawn, trimming the edges till it looked like a well-groomed park.
Meantime Louise and her sister set the table with the air of one who
decks a bride. It was so nice to use the table full length, to spread
the beautifully laundered cloth, mother’s only “best” cloth that
was left, treasured from the years of plenty; to set the best china
and glass in place, and make the most of the small stock of nicely
polished silver. And then the crystal bowl of roses in the centre of
each end made such a difference in the glory of the whole thing!
“Wasn’t it dear of her to send them?” exclaimed Louise, pulling a
great luscious bud over to droop at just the right angle.
Of course the crowning glory of all was the big angel cake with its
gleaming white frosting set in the midst of a wreath of roses, with
the twenty-one candles in a little pink circle cunningly fastened to
the cardboard circle concealed by the rose foliage. It certainly was
a pretty thing. The little pink paper baskets filled with delicately
browned and salted nuts were placed at each place by the exalted
Louise, whose eyes shone as if she were doing the honors at some
great festival; and the little birds with their name cards tilted on
the rims of the glasses delightfully. The little girl stood back with
clasped hands, and surveyed it all.
“It’s _real_!” she said delightedly. “It truly is. And she’ll
be—she’ll be impressed, won’t she, sister?”
There was no question between the two which of their young lady
guests they desired to impress. Their eyes met in sympathy. Then
Cornelia with a fleeting fear of being misunderstood:
“Yes, dear, I hope she will. But you know it’s not that I want to
make a show before her. It’s that—well, she is the kind of girl who
lacks all the formalities and refinements of life, and we have to do
a little extra to make her understand. You know formalities are good
things sometimes. They are like fences to keep intruders out and
hedges to keep in the sacred and beautiful things of life.”
Louise went and threw her arms around Cornelia, exclaiming: “Nellie,
you are just dear! You are like mother! You seem to find such pretty
things to say to make me understand.”
Cornelia stooped and kissed the warm pink cheek, realizing how very
dear this little sister was growing, and how happy a time they had
had getting ready for their party.
Meantime the cutlets were simmering away gently, getting themselves
tender and brown, and every dish and platter and spoon and knife was
in position for serving. Harry had come in, and was cracking ice and
getting the freezer ready; and Cornelia mixed the materials for the
water-ice. There was an excited half-hour while Harry ground away
at the freezer and then the paddle was taken out, and everybody had
a taste of the delectable green mixture that looked like a dream of
spring, and tasted “wonderful,” the children said.
“Now,” said Cornelia, putting the biscuits into the oven and looking
at the clock, “it’s time to go upstairs and rest a bit and get
dressed. There’s plenty of hot water, and Harry had better take his
bath first while you lie down, Louie. Yes, I want you to rest on the
bed at least ten minutes with your eyes shut. It will make a big
difference. You are so excited you don’t even know you’re tired, and
you’ve got a long evening before you. You want to be rested enough
to enjoy it. Oh, yes, I’m coming up to rest, too, just as soon as
I get the water on for the potatoes, and spinach. Then we’ll rest
together; and, when Harry gets his bath, we’ll get up and begin to
dress. Harry, you must polish your shoes and make them look fine. I’m
glad you had your hair cut yesterday. It looks very nice. Now let’s
go upstairs.”
But a sudden gloom had fallen over the face of Louise. In all the
planning, strange to say, it had never once occurred to her to think
what she herself would wear. Now the old, perplexing problem of the
ages swept down upon her darkly.
“But, Cornie, what shall I put on?”
She looked down at her blue checked gingham, and thought of the faded
blue challis that had been her best all winter, washed and let down,
and made to do because there was no money to buy anything else. It
had a great three-cornered tear where it caught on the key of the
door last Sunday night, forgotten until now.
Cornelia seemed not to notice her dismay.
“I laid your things out on a chair up in our room,” she said
pleasantly. “Everything is ready.”
“But I—there’s a—at least, don’t you think I better wash out my
collar? It’s just awful dirty!”
“Everything’s all right dear,” said her sister, bending over to look
at the oven flame and be sure it was just high enough to bake the
biscuits the right shade of brown. “Run up, and you’ll see.”
Louise turned and walked slowly up the stairs revolving the
possibility of her sister’s having mended the tear and washed the
collar, and resolving not to be disappointed if she had done neither.
“She had a lot to do this morning, and couldn’t, of course; and I
wouldn’t want her to. I’ll hurry and do it myself,” said the loyal
little soul. Then she entered the bedroom and stood entranced.
“O Harry, Harry! Come quick and see!” she cried to the boy, who was
pattering downstairs barefoot in his bath robe with a bunch of clean
garments under his arm. “She’s made over her beautiful pink organdie
with the lace on it for me! Isn’t she _dear_? Isn’t it a darling? And
the little black velvet bows! And there’s a white apron with lace
ruffles for me to wait on the table in, and some of her own white
silk stockings, and look at the ducky rosettes on my old pumps! They
look like new! Oh! Isn’t she the darlingest sister in the world?”
“She sure is!” fervently agreed Harry; and Cornelia, half-way up the
stairs, stopped suddenly and brushed away two tears that plumped
unannounced into her tired eyes. “Gee! That’s some dress,” went on
Harry. “Put it all over Clytie, won’t you? Glad you got it kid! You
deserve it”; and Harry bolted into the bathroom after this unusual
display of affection, and slammed the door after him, while Louise
came like a young whirlwind into Cornelia’s arms to hug and kiss her.
“And what are you going to wear, Nellie?” the little girl asked
anxiously when they were resting together on the bed. “You know you
must look just right, because you’re the centre of it all, the
head, kind of, you know—the—the—well—_more_ than mother, because
you’re young and have to look stylish. We’ve got to have that girl
understand you know; and clothes do make such a lot of difference—to
a girl like that! I’ll tell you a secret if you won’t feel bad. I
was planning to stay mostly in the kitchen so she wouldn’t see my
old blue challis. I thought she wouldn’t have much opinion of us if
Carey’s little sister dressed like that at a party. But now, _now_ I
can come out and have a good time.”
“Darling!” Cornelia patted her tenderly on the shoulder. “I’m so
sorry you’ve been troubled about your clothes. I ought to have got at
them sooner, and not made you worry. I think I’ll wear my white rajah
silk with the burnt-orange trimmings. I made it after a French model,
and I always liked it. It’s right to have everything pretty and neat,
of course, but I hope I haven’t made you too conscious about such
things. You know it really doesn’t matter about clothes if we look
clean and neat and behave well. I think we’ve been placing too high
a value on looks anyway. Of course looks do count a little; but they
are, after all, only a trifle beside real worth; and, if we can’t
impress that girl with our refinement by our actions, why, we can put
on all the clothes in the universe, and we won’t be able to do it any
better.”
“I know it,” answered the little girl wisely; “only it is nice to
have everything nice this time, because really and truly, Nellie,
it’s going to be just awful hard to have that girl here. I—I—just
kind of _hate_ her! It seems as if she’s going to spoil this whole
nice party.”
Cornelia had been stifling some such sinking of heart herself as she
stood looking at the pretty table and thought of the insignificant
little flirt who had brought it all into being, but now she roused to
the danger.
“Dearie! We mustn’t feel that way! We just mustn’t. You know we’ve
been praying, and now we’ve got to trust. And, after all, I don’t
suppose she is so very formidable. We’ll just be polite and try to
forget she is any different from Grace Kendall.”
“Oh, but she is, Nellie; how can we forget it? Why do there have to
be such girls made? And why do brothers have to have anything to do
with them? I just feel so sore all over when the girls at school talk
about her and then look at me. My face always burns.”
“There, dear! Now you mustn’t think such things. Just remember that
for tonight at least she is our guest and we’ve got to treat her as
well as any guest we ever expect to have. The rest is up to her.”
“And to God,” breathed the little girl softly and solemnly.
“Yes, dear. Think of that”; and she came close and kissed the pink
cheek tenderly.
Then Harry came whistling from the bathroom, and shot upstairs,
leaving a pleasant odor of scented soap and steam behind him; and the
two on the bed knew it was time to rise and get to work; for the last
round was on in the game, and there was no time to idle.