Now if you will be a good little grandmother, and promise never to worry
any more, then I’ll tell you about that party. We had to wear white
gloves. I’ll begin at the outside. The piazzas had colored lights
hanging round them, and there were colored lights hung in the trees and
the gateways. ’T was a foggy night, and those colored lights lighted up
the fog all around, so when you came towards the place it looked just
like a great bright spot in the midst of darkness. There was a tall
lady, standing in the middle of the room, with a splendid dress on,
dragging way behind her, and I went right up to her, and just got my
foot the way Mr. Tornero told us, and the palm of my hand right, when
Dorry jerked me back by my jacket and said she wasn’t the right one.
You see we got belated, going back after our clean pocket-handkerchiefs,
and hurried so that Dorry fell down and muddied his trousers’ knees, but
lucky ’t was close to the Two Betseys’ shop, for we went in there and
got sponged up, but we had to wait for ’em to dry. Lame Betsey said she
used to take care of Maud Grey when she was a little scrap, and she
wanted to make her a birthday present. So they both hunted round, to see
if they had anything. In the desk they found a little thin book, a
funny-looking old blue-covered book, “Advice to a Young Lady,” that was
given to Lame Betsey when she was young. The title was on the blue
cover. ’T was a funny-looking thing and it smelt snuffy. She asked me to
give it to Maud, after she’d written her name in it. I tell you now Lame
Betsey makes quite good letters! I didn’t want to take the book, but I
did, for both Betseys are clever women.
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All this was the reason we got belated, and Mrs. Grey had got mixed up
with the other people, but we found her and did the right thing by her.
And Maud too. I don’t think any of you would believe that I could
behave so well! so polite I mean. Course I didn’t feel bashful any! O
no!
They had four pieces, and they played as if they knew how. I didn’t
dance at the first of it. Didn’t dare to. ’T was too light there. The
carpets were covered with white. Then chandeliers, and lamps, and wax
candles, and flowers everywhere they could be, set up in vases,--one
lady called vases, varzes,--and hanging-baskets. I never was in such a
beautiful place. The ladies sang at the piano, and the young gentlemen
turned their leaves over. O you ought to ’ve heard ’em when the tunes
went up, up, up! Enough to make you catch your breath! Seemed as if it
could never get down again. I don’t like that kind. But Dorry said ’twas
opera style and nobody was to blame but me, if I didn’t like it. Now
John Brown’s Body, I like that, and when they all sang that, I joined
right in, same as any of them. For I knew I knew that tune. But first
one looked round at me, and then another looked round at me, as if
something was the matter. I thought I saw ’em smiling. Then I kept
still. But I didn’t know I was singing wrong. O, I do wish I knew what
this singing is! Seems easy enough. Now when the tune goes up loud, I go
up loud, and when that goes down low, I go down low. But Dorry says it
isn’t singing. Says ’tis discord. But I can’t tell discord from any
other cord, and he says the harder I try, the worse noise I make. I do
wish I could roar out that Glory Hallelujah! for I feel the tune inside
of me, but it never comes out right. Dorry laughs when I set out to
sing. He says I chase the tune up and down all the way through, and
never hit it! Now, if ’t is right inside, why can’t it come out right? I
don’t see!
We went into a large room to eat refreshments, and I wish Aunt Phebe
could see the things we had. And taste of them too. I saved the frosting
off my cake for Tommy. ’T is wrapped up in a paper in my trunk. ’T is
different from your frosting, good deal harder. I had a sort of funny
time in that room. Somebody had to hit my elbow when I was passing
custard to a girl, and joggled over a mess of it on to her white dress
and my trousers. I whipped out my pocket-handkerchief to sop it up, and
whipped out that little blue book. Somebody picked it up, and one young
man, that had been cutting up all the evening, Maud Grey’s cousin, he
got hold of it and read her name and called out to her to come get her
present, and made a good deal of fun about it, and began to read it
loud. She wanted to know who brought it, and somebody told her I was the
one. I began to grow red as fire, but all of a sudden I thought, Now,
Billy, what’s the use? So I said very plain, “Miss Grey, Lame Betsey
sent you that book.” She didn’t laugh very much, only smiled and asked
me to tell Lame Betsey she was glad that she remembered her. Guess she
thought I looked bashful, for afterwards she asked me if I wouldn’t try
a polka with her. I don’t think she’s very proud, for when I was looking
at a painted vase, she came and told me how it was done, for all I
wasn’t much acquainted with her. She talked to me as easy and sociable
as if she’d been Lucy Maria.
A company of us got together in one of the rooms and ate our ice-creams
there, and while we were eating them, we beheaded words. Lucy Maria must
read this letter, for she’ll want to know how. When you behead a word
you take off the first letter. It’s fun, when you get beheading them
fast. The spelling mustn’t be changed. Dorry made some of these. I
didn’t. I couldn’t think fast enough.
Behead an article of dress, and you leave a farming tool.
Shoe--hoe.
I’ll put the rest of the answers at the bottom, so as to give all of you
a chance to guess what they are.
1. Behead what leads men to fight, and you leave the cause of much
misery, sin, and death.
2. Behead what young ladies are said to be fond of, and you leave a
young lady.
3. Behead what comes nearest the hand, and you leave what comes nearest
the heart.