CHAPTER VI._In Blue Creek Cañon

MARJORIE'S PARTY.

"O Allie," said Marjorie suddenly; "did you know that next Thursday is

going to be mamma's birthday?"

"No, is it?" asked Allie, as she stooped to pick up the long, lean gray

cat that was wandering aimlessly around them, and rubbing her hollow

sides against their ankles. "I thought you gave Waif away, Marjorie."

"We did," responded Marjorie, laughing. "She was a stray cat that came

to us, you know, and she was so homely that mamma didn't want her in the

house, so we gave her to Dr. Hornblower, a month ago."

"Where'd she come from, then?" queried Allie, while she stroked the cat

as she stood pawing and purring in her lap. "Wouldn't she stay with

him?"

"Didn't I tell you? How queer, for we we've been laughing about it ever

since! You see," Marjorie continued, "the doctor was lonesome, and

wanted a cat for company, and we didn't want Waif, so we gave her to

him. He was perfectly delighted with her, and carried her off home in a

paper sack, with her head poking out through a hole in one side, and her

tail sticking out the other. Two days later he stopped papa in the

post-office and told him, 'Your kitty's caught a mouse.' The next week

he met mamma and told her 'Kitty's caught three mice.' Then we didn't

see anything more of him for ever so long, and we supposed that was the

last of it; but, day before yesterday morning, he came to the door and

handed a bundle to mamma, and said he didn't like the kitty as well as

he thought he was going to, after all, so he'd brought her back. So here

she is. Don't you want her?"

"I wouldn't take such a looking cat as a gift," returned Allie

disdainfully. "But wasn't that just like Dr. Hornblower? He's very good;

but he's as stupid as he can be, and I don't s'pose it ever occurred to

him that he could pass the cat along to somebody else. Did you ever

notice the way Mrs. Pennypoker always calls him 'good old Dr.

Hornblower,' when she's ten years older than he is? I wonder how he'd

like it, if he could hear her."

"I don't believe he'd mind, for he likes her so well; at least, he's

there ever so much," said Marjorie innocently.

"H'm! you needn't think he goes to see Mrs. Pennypoker," said Allie

scornfully. "It's Miss Lou that he likes."

"Not that old man!" And Marjorie stared at her friend in amazement.

"He isn't so very old; and I don't know as I wonder if he does," replied

Allie, with an air of great enjoyment in her small gossip. "I should

think anybody might like Miss Lou, she's so pretty; and I just believe

Mrs. Pennypoker is helping him on. You wait and see."

The two girls were sitting alone in the open front door of the Fishers'

house, enjoying the late afternoon sun of a warm spring day. They had

been off for a long ride with the boys, as was their frequent custom.

The children all had their saddle ponies, and it was their delight to

canter off, soon after lunch, for an hour or two among the pleasant

mountain roads surrounding the town. On their return, they had stopped

for a moment at Marjorie's door, to find that Mrs. Fisher had gone out

to make some calls; and Marjorie had begged Allie to stay and keep her

company until Allie had at length yielded and allowed the boys to go on

without her.

There was a pause after Allie's last words; then Marjorie returned to

her original charge.

"Yes," she resumed; "Thursday is going to be her birthday, and I want to

celebrate. What can I do?"

"I don't know, I'm sure," answered Allie vaguely. "What do you want to

do?"

"That's the worst of it," responded Marjorie thoughtfully. "I want it to

be something that she'd like, and I don't know just what. I might--Let

me see. I'll tell you," she added, with sudden inspiration, "I'll give

her a surprise party."

"What?" And Allie looked at her friend, in astonishment at so daring a

proposal.

"Yes, I'll give her a party," repeated Marjorie, nodding her head with

decision.

"But do you suppose she'd like it?" inquired Allie dubiously.

"Of course she will. She 'most always has one for me on my birthday, you

know," returned Marjorie; "and she wouldn't do that, if she didn't like

them. She never had one herself; but that's only because she didn't have

anybody to give her one."

Such logic was not to be resisted; and Allie felt her misgivings swept

away while she listened.

"Besides," Marjorie went on enthusiastically; "I heard her say to papa,

last night, that they'd take that very day to go over to Butte, and buy

the new parlor carpet. They'll go in the morning early, and not come

back till five, so that will just give us time, while they're out of the

way. You'll help me get ready for it, won't you, Allie?"

"If mamma will let me," Allie was beginning, when Marjorie

interrupted,--

"Your mother mustn't know anything about it; but we won't go to Mrs.

Hammond that morning, we'll come here instead."

"I'm afraid we oughtn't to do that," remonstrated Allie feebly, although

she was secretly longing to enter into the proposition.

"Why not?" demanded Marjorie. "Mamma gave up going to missionary

meeting, last year, to get ready for my birthday party, and this is just

the same thing. Don't be silly, Allie, but help me plan. I know mamma

would say 'twas right," she added with an air of self-sacrificing

virtue; "to give up our own improvement for the sake of making her

happy."

"We might ask mamma," suggested Allie hopefully.

"Oh, no; she'd be sure to tell my mother, and that would spoil all the

surprise," interposed Marjorie hastily. "It will be all right, I know.

Would you have them come to supper, or just in the evening?"

"It's less work to have them come in the evening, isn't it?" asked

Allie, losing her last doubts in the excitement of making plans for so

momentous an occasion.

"Well, no," said Marjorie reflectively. "You have to feed them both

times; and, in the evening, we'd have to have more salads and fancy

things. We won't need so much, just for tea."

"What would you have?" inquired Allie, moving down to the lower step

where her friend was sitting.

"Oh, just cake and preserves, and some kind of cold meat," returned

Marjorie. "They'll be so busy talking they won't much mind what they get

to eat, as long as there's plenty of it. We'll have it early, too, so

they won't get so hungry. I can make splendid gingerbread, and the rest

we can get down at the bakery; I haven't touched my this month's money

yet. We'll work hard all the morning, and get the tables set and

everything ready before mamma comes home, so they can be on hand to

surprise her, when she comes in at the door."

"Yes," continued Allie, growing enthusiastic in her turn; "and then she

won't need to have any care or worry about it; all she'll have to do

will be just to sit in the parlor and make sure that they have a good

time. At the table, she'll have to pour the tea; but we can pass things.

Who're you going to invite?"

"Let's see," said Marjorie, pondering over the matter. "There's your

father and mother, and Mr. Everett and Miss Lou and Mrs. Pennypoker;

that's five."

"And Ned and Grant?" suggested Allie.

"Oh, no," answered Marjorie; "they'd only be in the way, and, besides,

they're too young. This isn't a party for me, you know, and we can't

have the boys."

"Not even Howard?" begged Allie. "He could help us cut meat, and wash

dishes afterwards. He can do that as well as a girl."

"The boys can all come and wash dishes, after it's over, if they want

to," returned Marjorie firmly; "but we can't have them at supper-time.

I wouldn't mind Howard; but there's Charlie and the Everetts that would

have to come, if he did, so we might as well stop before we begin. Where

was I? Two Burnams and three Everetts and two Fishers, to start with:

seven."

"And the Nelsons?" asked Allie.

"Yes, nine; and Dr. Hornblower is ten,--I suppose we ought to ask

him,--and Mrs. Hammond is eleven, 'cause she might be cross next day, if

we didn't invite her. And then that new doctor that Charlie knows--what

is his name?"

"Dr. Brownlee?" inquired Allie. "But does your mother know him?"

"I don't think so," said Marjorie; "but he's real pleasant looking, and

I've heard her say, ever so many times, that it's polite to welcome

strangers when they first come to a place, so I know she'd want us to

ask him. And then Miss Lou knows him a little bit, for I saw him take

off his hat to her the other day; and she can introduce him. He makes

twelve. I don't believe we'd better have any more. I'd like to ask Mr.

Saunders, that keeps the fruit store down on the corner; but they say

thirteen is unlucky, so perhaps twelve will do."

"All right," agreed Allie. "How are you going to ask them?"

"I shall just say, 'Mamma wishes you'd come to supper at half past

five.' I won't ask them till the night before for fear somebody'd tell

her; but if she goes on the early train, it will be safe enough."

"Then aren't you going to say it's a surprise party?" asked Allie,

rising to go home, as she saw Mrs. Fisher coming up the street.

"No; for I'm afraid they mightn't come," said Marjorie, in a low voice.

"Now, Allie, don't you dare to breathe a word of this to anybody, not

even to Howard, for I want it to be a perfect surprise. And you know

you've promised to help me out in the morning."

Five days later, two flushed and grimy, but triumphant young hostesses

stood gazing at the tables before them. Marjorie's plan had been carried

into effect; and her guests, one and all, had gratefully accepted Mrs.

Fisher's invitation to tea, for they knew of old that her little parties

were the most enjoyable ones in the camp. Even Dr. Brownlee had sent a

cordial message of acceptance, for though he was surprised at the

invitation, coming as it did from a stranger whom he did not even know

by sight, he attributed it to the proverbial Western hospitality, and

was glad of anything which could bring him into connection with the

people among whom he was to live. Early that morning Mr. and Mrs. Fisher

had gone away for a long, tedious day of shopping, and an hour later

Allie and Marjorie had invaded the kitchen for four hours of hard work.

By noon all was in readiness, and they could pause to contemplate the

result of their labors.

The table was stretched to its utmost length, and bright with snowy

linen and glass and silver, while around it were gathered twelve chairs,

taken from the different rooms, in order to accommodate the unusual

number of guests. Here a dining-room chair stood beside one borrowed

from Mrs. Fisher's bedroom; there kitchen wood and parlor upholstery

were placed side by side, in striking contrast. The table itself was

groaning beneath the weight of the feast, for Marjorie had been liberal

in her selection from her mother's preserves; while a whole boiled ham,

fresh from the bakehouse, stood before Mr. Fisher's place, and at the

other end of the table his wife's chair was decked with ribbons, and

confronted with a great loaf of cake, whose uneven icing bore, in red

sugar, the letters "M.C.F.," traced by an inexperienced hand. This was

Allie's contribution to the banquet, and Marjorie had thoughtfully

surrounded it with a circle of thirty-nine tiny candles, which stood

ready for the lighting. Plates of assorted cookies were scattered about

the board; here lay a low dish of olives, whose dusky green contrasted

well with the ruddy globe of an Edam cheese, placed beside them, and

there rose a towering pyramid of golden oranges flanked on either side

by a tempting pile of purple and white grapes.

"It does look pretty, doesn't it, Allie?" asked Marjorie for the fifth

time.

"Yes," said Allie, as she bent forward to break a corner off from one of

the cookies and tuck it into her mouth. "Yes, it is lovely. I do hope

your mother will like it. But now I must hurry, or mamma will know

something is going to happen."

"Go on, then; only be sure you're back here by five," Marjorie warned

her. "And don't let the boys come here this afternoon, for I'm too tired

to even look at them."

At half past five, the guests had assembled and were sitting in the

parlor, looking a little annoyed and uncomfortable as the moments passed

by and their hostess did not appear.

"Come right in," Marjorie had said to them, one after another; "Mamma

will be so glad to see you; she'll be here in a minute."

Last of all came Dr. Brownlee. He had been delayed until the last

possible moment, and now, just as Mr. and Mrs. Fisher turned the corner

far down the street, he rang at the door, to be admitted by Marjorie.

Once inside the parlor, he stopped and looked around the room in search

of his hostess, in order to offer her a prompt apology for his seeming

rudeness in being so late. To his surprise, there was no one present at

all answering to the description of Mrs. Fisher which he had received

from his landlady.

"Hamlet, without the ghost!" he thought to himself, as he paused

irresolutely, just across the threshold, and glanced about in vain for a

familiar face.

For a moment there was an awkward hush. Most of the guests knew the

doctor by sight, but in the explicable absence of their hostess, no one

was sufficiently at ease to rise and bid the stranger welcome to another

person's house. They tried to go on with their conversation, in apparent

unconsciousness of the young man who stood in the doorway, reddening

under their sidelong glances; but their attempt was not crowned with

success, and there came one of those seemingly interminable pauses

which sometimes fall upon a room. Then, all at once, Louise Everett rose

from her chair in the bay-window, where she had been hidden behind the

ample shoulder of Mrs. Pennypoker, and, crossing the room, she greeted

the doctor as an old acquaintance. A few words passed between them; then

she introduced him to the other guests, before leading the way back to

her own cosy corner, where Mrs. Burnam sat waiting to welcome him, as

the friend of her young nephew.

"Who's that going in at our house?" Mr. Fisher had asked, peering over

the top of the pile of bundles in his arms. "It looks like Dr. Brownlee;

but why should he be going there?"

"Oh, dear; I hope it isn't anybody coming to call," sighed his wife,

with the inhospitality born of a long day of tedious, unsatisfactory

shopping. But she quickened her pace, in order to discover who was the

guest awaiting them.

At the door she was met by Marjorie, dressed in her best gown, and

looking strangely excited.

"Let me take your things, mamma," she said in a low tone. "There's

somebody to see you in the parlor."

Forcing a smile to her tired face, Mrs. Fisher advanced to the door to

greet her caller. On the threshold she paused aghast, for, to her

startled eyes, the room appeared to be thronged with people, who rose

and stepped forward to meet her, while Marjorie stood at her side,

gleefully clapping her hands and exclaiming,--

"It's a surprise party, mamma! It's a surprise party!"

For one instant, Mrs. Fisher faltered. She had come home in a state of

utter exhaustion, and she longed to run away from the parlor and hide.

But the next minute her courage came back to her, in the face of her

roomful of guests, and she gave them as hearty a welcome as if the party

had been one of her own making. Up and down the room she went, speaking

a word here, shaking a hand there, all with the tact for which her

hospitality was noted. She had sent one appealing glance towards Louise,

and the girl, taking in the situation in a moment, had come to her aid,

with Dr. Brownlee at her side. In a short time the room was buzzing with

voices, as the guests entered into the full tide of conversation.

Suddenly the dining-room door swung open, and Allie appeared on the

threshold.

"Please come out to supper, now," she said shyly, as she met her

mother's surprised glance.

There was another pause of uncertainty; then Mr. Everett offered his arm

to Mrs. Fisher, and led the way to the table, where the guests seated

themselves as they wished, gazing, meanwhile, with amused eyes at the

feast before them. A short silence followed, and then the conversation

started up once more, as Mr. Fisher, with one despairing glance at his

wife, attacked the vast ham before him, and Mrs. Fisher began to pour

out the pale, watery effusion which filled the teapot. Allie and

Marjorie were already bestirring themselves to pass the plates and cups

about the table; but all at once Marjorie paused abruptly, with her arm

outstretched, as she gazed blankly this way and that. Then her face grew

red and the sudden tears rushed to her eyes, as she hurried out of the

room, with a gesture to Allie to follow her.

"What is it, Marjorie?" Allie exclaimed in alarm, as the young hostess

sank down into the wood box and buried her face in her hands.

An inarticulate moan was her only answer.

"Marjorie! Marjorie!" she urged again. "Tell me what's the matter. Are

you ill?"

Then Marjorie raised her head for a moment.

"I'm all right," she said, with a great sob of shame; "but what shall we

do, Allie? We ate up all the bread for breakfast, and I forgot to order

any more."

It was late that evening when the guests took their leave; and, as they

went away down the street together, they said, over and over again, that

Mrs. Fisher had never before been half so bright and witty in her talk,

so quick to plan new modes of entertainment. Their hostess watched them

out of sight; then, after an expressive look at her husband, she turned

away from the door, and crossed the hall to Marjorie's room. All was

dark within, as she opened the door and entered; but, as soon as her

eyes had grown accustomed to the gloom, she went up to the bed, and laid

her hand on a small, dark body, curled up on the white spread.

"Marjorie, dear," she said gently.

The childish figure was quivering with suppressed sobs; but there was no