BESS GIVES A PARTY
Christmas came. Betsy and Elizabeth presented their gifts to Miss
Jewett upon the last day of school before the holidays began. Miss
Jewett’s desk showed a great stack of gifts, the most showy being a
sofa pillow from Corinne Barker and the most appreciated being those
which Elizabeth and Betsy had made themselves. Elizabeth spent much
thought upon the composition of a proper set of verses to go with the
scent bag, and finally produced the following:
I gathered from our garden beds
These simple herbs for you,
For they are sweet and you are sweet,
I’m telling what is true.
I fain would be dried as they
If I might dwell within
Your handkerchiefs and laces gay
You fasten with a pin.
Whene’er you ope your bureau drawer
And smell this bag I send,
I pray you think of one who signs
Herself, your loving friend.
Herbs are not pollens.
Elizabeth Hollins.
There were tears in Miss Jewett’s eyes as well as laughter on her
lips when she read this effusion. “The dear, ridiculous child,” she
murmured, “she is so preciously funny.”
It had taken Elizabeth a long time to find anything to rhyme with
Hollins and she felt very triumphant when she discovered the word
pollen, though plural it has none. Elizabeth, however, never let a
little thing of that kind appall her and often took such poetic license
as would have amazed a greater poet. She did not show her rhymes to
anyone, not even to Betsy, for she had a romantic feeling that the more
secret the more tender. She wrote the verses, in her best manner, on
the back of a Christmas card showing an angel with a violin. She had
commissioned her brother Dick to get this for her. To his credit be
it told, that he took much trouble and only after searching long and
faithfully did he find what she wanted and sent it to her. To say that
Elizabeth was pleased only half expresses it. Her letter of thanks to
Dick was characteristic. She said:
DEAR DICK,--I am abnormally obliged to you for taking the trouble
to send me the enchanting card. It is exactly what I wanted and is
memoriably lovely. What it is to have a brother!
I remain, my dear sir,
Yours gratefully,
ELIZABETH.
Dick had a good laugh over the letter and put it away among those he
treasured. “It will amuse her some day when she has grown up,” he told
himself.
Miss Jewett was trying to help Elizabeth in her use of words but there
had not been time as yet to show much result from her teaching. On the
day that school closed for the holidays Bess announced importantly that
she was going to give a party on New Year’s night. She had not returned
to her allegiance but showed both Betsy and Elizabeth that she vastly
preferred Corinne to either of them. They, therefore, wondered if an
invitation to this festivity would be given them.
“It would be dreadful to be left out,” declared Elizabeth as she and
Betsy were talking it over. “It would be almost a disgrace, for she
will invite nearly everybody in the school, except the very little
children, of course.”
“She won’t have a very big party if she is going to invite only those
who are friends with Corinne,” returned Betsy caustically. “We’ve known
her all our lives and our families are friends and all that.”
“I suppose it will be as her mother and grandmother say,
anyhow,”--Elizabeth took some comfort in this.
“And I’d like to see Mrs. Lynde offend my aunt Emily; she wouldn’t do
it, for they are very intimate friends. I shall tell her about the
party right away and of course she will expect that I am to go.”
So much for Betsy’s prospects. Elizabeth was not so sure of her own.
Bess had painted her plans in vivid colors, her ambition being to
give such an affair as should be equal to those described by Corinne.
Musicians discoursing sweet strains of music behind a screen of palms,
a supper ordered from a caterer in the city, party dresses made to
order for the occasion, sounded very grand to little girls used only
to very simple affairs. “I suppose If I do go,” said Elizabeth, “I
couldn’t have a real party dress; I would just have to wear my best
white.”
“I suppose I should, too. Aunt Emily doesn’t approve of little girls
like us having real dressy clothes.”
“I heard Bess say that her dress was to be blue chiffon over blue silk
with tiny pink rosebuds on it. Won’t it be beautiful?”
“Oh, I suppose so,” returned Betsy carelessly. “I reckon she will enjoy
it more than anyone else. If you wear white, Elizabeth, I will wear it,
too, so we can keep each other company. We will not be the only ones,
either, for I don’t suppose half the girls will have really truly party
dresses.”
“Have you heard what Corinne is going to wear?” asked Elizabeth.
“White lace over pink, I believe; at least that is what Flo Harris told
me.”
This promised to be very fine attire, thought Elizabeth, yet she
was comforted by what Betsy had said--that not half the girls would
have real party dresses and would go in whatever might be the most
appropriate thing they had.
The next day saw Corinne and Bess driving around town in a pony-cart
delivering the invitations. Corinne had spoken her mind when they first
started forth. “If you are going to invite that red-headed Elizabeth
Hollins you can count me out,” she said.
“Oh, but Corinne, I have to,” replied Bess. “Grandmother and mamma made
out the list and her name was one of the first. I really have nothing
to do with it, you see.”
“We’ll manage some way,” declared Corinne. “Just you leave it to me.
She lives so far out that we will have to leave it till the last,
anyway, and I doubt if we get through in time to go there, so we can
take it to the post-office.”
“Oh, but,--” began Bess, slightly disturbed, yet not exactly seeing how
mailing an invitation would prevent its reaching its destination.
“Now see here,” continued Corinne, “which would you rather would come
to the party, Elizabeth or I?”
Bess remembered the lace-over-pink frock which would add glory to her
entertainment and promptly replied: “You, of course.”
“Then if you want me you can’t have her. I’m not going to see her
sailing around and being made so much of. What do you suppose she will
wear, Bess?”
“Oh, I suppose she wouldn’t get a new dress for the occasion. She will
wear her best white, I suppose.”
“Humph!” Corinne gave a scornful exclamation. “Now listen. We will go
to the post-office with her invitation; when we get inside you hand her
invitation to me and I’ll do the rest. You can say you took it yourself
to the post-office, can’t you? That will be the strict truth; you don’t
have to know what happens after that.”
Bess had an idea of what would happen and felt very reluctant to hand
over the invitation to Corinne, so she was silent.
“Aren’t you going to do it?” asked Corinne. “I suppose you will like
her going around telling everybody that you are too fat to look well in
your lovely new frock.”
This was rather a back-handed way of putting it, but Bess did not
perceive that; she only saw that the glory of her attire might
be undervalued; and so she gave in, at the same time feeling
conscience-stricken and more unhappy as time went on. At the
post-office she gave the envelope into Corinne’s hands, turned her back
and asked no questions. “Now then,” said Corinne as they came out, “if
anyone asks you all you have to say is that you took the invitation to
the post-office yourself, and it will be perfectly true.”
Betsy promptly reported to her first best that she had received her
invitation, that her aunt Emily said she was to go and could wear
her white mull. “Which of your white frocks are you going to wear,
Elizabeth?” she asked.
“I don’t suppose I shall wear any of them,” returned Elizabeth, in a
subdued voice. “I haven’t been invited.”
“Oh, Elizabeth, I don’t believe it. I saw Corinne and Bess driving old
Fan around in the pony-cart yesterday. Perhaps they didn’t have time to
come out here and you will get yours today.”
This was an encouraging possibility; but as day after day went by and
no invitation came Elizabeth was fain to believe that she had been left
out.
“I’m just going to ask,” said Betsy indignantly. “I don’t see how they
dared not ask you. I am going to ask Mrs. Lynde myself why you weren’t
invited.”
“Oh, no, please don’t, Betsy. I wouldn’t for the world have them think
I cared.” Elizabeth had pride in the matter.
“Well, I shall find out some way.” Betsy was determined. “If you don’t
go I shall stay away, and if aunt Emily asks me why, I am going to up
and tell her.”
This was loyalty beyond expectation. To deliberately absent one’s self
from a party such as this promised to be showed great strength of mind,
thought Elizabeth. “I don’t want you to do that,” she said. “I want you
to go and then tell me all about it. I didn’t really think that Bess
was keeping on being so very very mad with me,” she added.
“I don’t believe it is Bess at all; I believe it is all that horrid
Corinne Barker.”
“But she didn’t make out the list. I heard Bess say, myself, that her
grandmother and mother were doing it.”
“You never know,” returned Betsy.
But as the days passed by there was no solution of the mystery.
Christmas came and went and the fact of having no party in
anticipation did not in the least interfere with Elizabeth’s enjoyment
of the day. Darling Miss Jewett had given her a beautiful copy of
“Little Women” and had added a photograph of herself in a pretty frame.
As Elizabeth had heretofore depended upon borrowing from Betsy when
she wanted to read anything of Miss Alcott’s, this first contribution
towards a set of the much-prized books gave intense delight. As for
the photograph, it was kissed rapturously and at the first opportunity
Elizabeth hastened off to the giver to express her thanks.
After greetings and thanks were over Miss Jewett said: “And now I
suppose the next excitement is the party Bess is going to give.”
Elizabeth’s face fell. “I suppose it will be very exciting to those who
are going,” she answered sadly.
“Why, but surely you are going. Is there any reason why you should
not?” asked Miss Jewett. She did not know what cause might keep
Elizabeth at home, although she knew Mrs. Hollins was not liable to
deprive her little daughter of this pleasure without good reason.
“There is a very good reason,” Elizabeth told her: “I am not invited.”
“Oh, but Elizabeth, there must be some mistake. I saw the list myself,
and I can vouch for your name being on it. I am sure I saw it. Neither
Mrs. Lynde nor Mrs. Ferguson would be so unkind as to leave you out.
There must be some mistake.”
“I don’t believe there is,” said Elizabeth, “for Bess and Corinne took
around the invitations themselves, and Bess would know. She couldn’t
forget me even if she isn’t friends any more.”
“Aren’t you friends? I didn’t know it was as bad as that.”
“I’m friends, but Bess isn’t,” said Elizabeth. “She hasn’t been since
she became such chums with Corinne.”
Miss Jewett was thoughtful for a moment, then she repeated: “There must
be some mistake. I still think so. I wouldn’t feel badly, Elizabeth,
until we really discover what is the matter.”
It was not till two days before the date of the party that Miss Jewett
had an opportunity of asking any questions. She spent part of her
holidays with her own family and did not return until the morning of
the thirtieth. On the train she met Mrs. Ferguson who had been to the
city to make some necessary purchases for the entertainment, and the
two chatted together until they reached Brookdale.
In discussing the different girls Mrs. Ferguson spoke of Elizabeth in
such a manner as to lead Miss Jewett to believe that she was expected
to be one of the guests.
“Bess is very particular that we should consider this a most formal
affair,” said Mrs. Ferguson, “and is quite put out when any of those
invited fail to write a note of acceptance; but I tell her it is too
much to expect all that from the little girls who do not know grown-up
ways, and she must take it for granted that all will come whether they
say so or not.”
“Who are those who have failed to be so formal as Bess requires?” asked
Miss Jewett.
“Elizabeth Hollins, for one, but she and Bess have always been so
intimate that there is no need for her to write. Bess has not mentioned
her case, but did become quite miffed because Flo Harris only called
across the street: ‘I’m coming, Bess.’ ‘That isn’t the way young ladies
in the city would do,’ Bess said to me.”
“I think I can tell you why Elizabeth has not answered,” returned Miss
Jewett; “she never received her invitation. I know her well enough to
be sure that nothing would please her so much as to write a most formal
and highly-flown note, and besides she told me herself on Christmas Day
that she was not going to the party because she had not been invited.”
“Dear me,” returned Mrs. Ferguson; “that is most unfortunate. I would
not hurt the dear child’s feelings for the world. I must see to the
matter as soon as I get home.”
She lost no time in doing this but put the question to Bess almost as
soon as she reached home. “Bess,” she said, “I have just heard that
Elizabeth Hollins failed to get her invitation to your party. You must
go out there this very afternoon and tell her, or, better still, I will
write an invitation in proper form so she will not feel slighted. I
don’t see how it happened that she did not get one. I am sure that she
was not overlooked, for I looked over the envelopes myself before I put
them in the basket.”
“Did you give it to Elizabeth herself?” asked Mrs. Lynde.
“No, grandmamma,” Bess replied. “I took it to the post-office. It was
so late when we got through that Corinne said we’d better take it to
the post-office.”
“As long as that was the furthest point you had to go you should have
gone there first,” said Mrs. Lynde, “and have left the places nearer
home till the last. It is too bad, but evidently it has gone astray.”
Bess said never a word though she was really relieved that Elizabeth
would have her invitation after all. She would not say a word to
Corinne about it, and when she came to the party and found Elizabeth
there she would surely not go away.
But it happened that it was not Bess who took the invitation for she
was in demand by the dressmaker that afternoon and could not be spared,
so Mrs. Ferguson hastily wrote a note and ran in to see if Betsy would
be so good as to take it with the invitation to Elizabeth. Would Betsy
refuse? Of course not. She went on wings of joy and burst in upon
Elizabeth in great excitement. “It’s here, it’s here,” she cried. “It
was a mistake, after all. They did send it and you didn’t get it. Read
the note.” She thrust the envelopes into Elizabeth’s hand and stood by
panting from the haste with which she had come.
Elizabeth was not long in understanding the contents of the note. “Joy!
Joy!” she cried. “Mother, Kath, it’s come! It was a mistake after all.
I can go! I can go!”
“What in the world is this all about?” asked Kathie, coming in from the
next room, followed by her mother.
“The party,” answered Elizabeth. “I can go, for they did send me an
invitation and I never got it at all. Oh, I am so glad. Shall I wear my
white dress or my organdy?”
“We will look them over and see,” promised her mother.
“We’d better be quick about it then; there is only one more day in case
there is anything to be done to make a dress ready,” said Kathie. And
Elizabeth flew to the attic to bring down her summer store of frocks.