A CHILDREN'S PARTY
The next day the children tried very hard to be good. It was not easy,
for Grandma seemed especially punctilious, and reprimanded them for every
little thing. She told them of the party in the afternoon, and taught
them how to make curtseys to greet the guests.
"I know how to curtsey," said Marjorie. "I always do it at home, when
mother has callers. But I don't curtsey to children."
"Yes, you must," said Grandma. "I don't want my grandchildren behaving
like a lot of rustics."
This speech greatly offended Marjorie, and it was with difficulty that
she refrained from answering that they were not rustics. But she
controlled herself, and said that of course she would curtsey to the
young guests if Grandma wished her to.
"Now that's a little lady," said Grandma, approvingly, and Marjorie felt
glad that she hadn't given way to her irritation.
"What time is the party, Grandma?" asked Kitty.
"From four to six, Kitty; but you children must be dressed, and in the
drawing-room at quarter before four."
The day dragged along, as there was nothing especial to do and no way to
have any fun. Grandpa Maynard had gone out with their father, and though
the children went up in the billiard room they didn't feel just like
romping.
"I hate this house!" said King, unable to repress the truth any longer.
"So do I!" said Kitty. "If we stay here much longer, I'll run away."
This surprised the other two, for Kitty was usually mild and gentle, and
rarely gave way to such speech as this.
"It's Grandma Maynard that makes the trouble," said King. "She's so
pernickety and fussy about us. I'd behave a great deal better if she'd
let me alone. And Grandpa wouldn't bother about us if Grandma didn't make
him."
"I don't think you ought to talk like that, King," said Marjorie.
"Somehow, it doesn't seem right. It isn't respectful, and all that, and
it doesn't seem a nice thing to do."
"That's so, Mops; you're just right!" said King, taking the reproof in
good part, for he knew it was merited. "It's a whole lot worse to be
disrespectful about your grandpeople than to carry on and make a racket,
_I_ think."
"Yes, it is," said Marjorie, "and I say the rest of the time we're here,
let's try to do just right. Because it's only two or three days anyway.
I think we're going on day after to-morrow."
So they all agreed to try afresh to behave correctly, and on the whole
succeeded pretty well.
Promptly at quarter of four that afternoon they presented themselves in
the drawing-room for Grandma's inspection.
"You look very well," Grandma said, nodding her head approvingly at the
girls' frilly white dresses and King's correct clothes. "Now I trust
you'll behave as well as you look."
"What do you want us to do, Grandma?" asked Marjorie. "I mean to
entertain the boys and girls."
"Oh, nothing of that sort, child; the entertainment will be provided by a
professional entertainer. You have only to greet the guests properly,
and that is all you need do."
Marjorie did not know quite what a professional entertainer was, but it
sounded interesting, and she was quite sure she could manage to greet the
guests politely.
Although Marjorie's mother was in the room, she had little to say,
for Grandma Maynard was accustomed to dominate everything in her own
house. And as her ideas were not entirely in accord with those of her
daughter-in-law, the younger Mrs. Maynard thought it wise not to obtrude
her own opinions.
Promptly at four o'clock the children began to come. The Maynards stood
in a group at one end of the long room, and as each guest arrived, a
footman stationed at the doorway announced the name in a loud voice. Then
each little guest came and curtsied to the receiving party, and after a
few polite remarks, passed on, and was ushered to a seat by another
footman.
The seats were small, gilt chairs with red cushions, arranged all round
the wall, and there were about forty.
In a short time the guests were all in their places, and then the
Maynards were shown to their seats.
Then the professional entertainer arrived. She proved to be a pretty and
pleasant young lady, and she wore a light blue satin gown and a pink
rose in her hair.
First, she sang a song for them, and then she told a story, and then she
recited a poem.
Then she asked the children what they would like to have next. At first
no one responded, and then a little girl said, "Won't you sing us another
song, please. You sing so delightfully."
Marjorie looked in amazement at the child who talked in such grownup
fashion. But the entertaining lady did not seem to think it strange, and
she replied, "Yes, I will sing for you with pleasure."
So she sang another song, but though it was pretty music, Marjorie could
not understand the words, and she began to think that the programme
was rather tiresome.
The lady kept on telling stories and reciting poems, and singing, until
Marjorie almost had the fidgets. It seemed so unlike her notion of a
children's party, to sit still and listen to a programme all the
afternoon, and she grew cramped and tired, and longed for it to be over.
But the city children did not seem to feel that way at all. They sat very
demurely with their hands clasped, and their slippered feet crossed, and
applauded politely at the proper times. Marjorie glanced at King and
Kitty, and their answering glances proved that they felt exactly as she
did herself. However, all three were determined to do the right thing,
and so they sat still, and tried to look as if they were enjoying
themselves.
At half-past five the programme came to an end, and the children were
invited to go out into the dining-room for the feast.
The dining-room was transformed into a place of beauty. Small tables
accommodated six guests each, and at each place was a lovely basket of
flowers with a big bow of gauze ribbon on the handle. Each table had a
different color, and the flowers in the basket matched the ribbon bow.
Marjorie's basket was filled with pink sweet peas, while at another table
Kitty had lavender pansies, and King found himself in front of a basket
of yellow daisies.
The feast, as might have been expected at Grandma Maynard's, was
delicious, but the Maynard children could not enjoy it very much because
of their environment. They were not together, and each one being with
several strangers, felt it necessary to make polite conversation.
King tried to talk on some interesting subject to the little girl who sat
next him.
"Have you a flower garden?" he said.
"Oh, no, indeed; we live in the city, so we can't very well have a flower
garden."
"No, of course not," agreed King. "You see, we live in the country, so we
have lots of flowers."
"It must be dreadful to live in the country," commented the little girl,
with a look of scorn.
"It isn't dreadful at all," returned King; "and just now, in springtime,
it's lovely. The flowers are all coming out, and the birds are hopping
around, and the grass is getting green. What makes you say it's
dreadful?"
"Oh, I don't like the country," said the child, with a shrug of her
little shoulders. "The grass is wet, and there aren't any pavements, and
everything is so disagreeable."
"You're thinking of a farm; I don't mean that kind of country," and then
King remembered that he ought not to argue the question, but agree with
the little lady, so he said, "But of course if you don't like the
country, why you don't, that's all"
"Yes, that's all," said the little girl, and then the conversation
languished, for the children seemed to have no subjects in common.
At her table, Marjorie was having an equally difficult time. There was a
good-looking and pleasant-faced boy sitting next to her, so she said,
"Do you have a club?"
"Oh, no," returned the boy; "my father belongs to clubs, but I'm too
young."
"But I don't mean that kind," explained Marjorie; "I mean a club just for
fun. We have a Jinks Club,--we cut up jinks, you know."
"How curious!" said the boy. "What are jinks?"
Marjorie thought the boy rather silly not to know what jinks were, for
she thought any one with common sense ought to know that, but she said,
"Why, jinks are capers,--mischief,--any kind of cutting up."
"And you have a club for that?" exclaimed the boy, politely surprised.
"Yes, we do," said Marjorie, determined to stand up for her own club.
"And we have lovely times. We do cut up jinks, but we try to make them
good jinks, and we play all over the house, and out of doors, and
everywhere."
"It must be great fun," said the boy, but he said it in such an
uninterested tone that Marjorie gave up talking to him, and turned her
attention to the neighbor on her other side.
When the supper was over, the young guests all took their leave. Again
the Maynards stood in a group to receive the good-byes, and every child
expressed thanks for the afternoon's pleasure in a formal phrase, and
curtsied, and went away.
When they had all gone, the Maynard children looked at each other,
wondering what to do next.
"You may go up to the billiard room and play, if you like," said Grandma,
benignly. "You will not want any other supper to-night, I'm sure; so you
may play up there until bedtime."
Rosy Posy was carried away by the nurse, but the three other children
started for the billiard room. Marjorie, however, turned back to say,
"We all thank you, Grandma Maynard, for the party you gave us."
Kitty and King murmured some sort of phrase that meant about the same
thing, but as they had not enjoyed the party at all they didn't make
their thanks very effusive, and then the three walked decorously
upstairs. But once inside the billiard room, with the door shut, they
expressed their opinions.
"That was a high old party, wasn't it?" said King.
"The very worst ever!" declared Kitty. "I never got so tired of anything
in my life, as I did listening to that entertaining person, or whatever
they call her."
"It _was_ an awful poky party," said Marjorie, "but I think we ought to
give Grandma credit for meaning to give us pleasure. Of course she's
used to children who act like that, and she couldn't even imagine the
kind of parties we have at home, where we frolic around and have a good
time. So I say don't let's jump on her party, but remember that she did
it for us, and she did it the best she knew how."
"You're a good sort, Mopsy," said King, looking at his sister
affectionately. "What you say is all right, and it goes. Now let's cut
out that party and try to forget it."
There were some quiet games provided for the children, and so they played
parcheesi and authors until bedtime, for though the billiard room was
hardly within hearing of their grandparents, yet they did not feel like
playing romping games.
"I don't think I shall ever holler again," said King. "I'm getting so
accustomed to holding my breath for fear I'll make too much noise that
I'll probably always do so after this."
"No, you won't," said practical Kitty. "As soon as you get away from
Grandma Maynard's house you'll yell like a wild Indian."
"I expect I will," agreed King. "Come on, let's play Indians now."
"Nope," said Marjorie; "we'd get too noisy, and make mischief. I'm going
to bed; I'm awfully tired."
"So'm I," said Kitty. "Parties like that are enough to wear anybody out!"
They all went downstairs to their bedrooms, but as Marjorie passed the
door of her grandmother's room, she paused and looked in.
"May I come in, Grandma?" she said. "I do love to see you in your
beautiful clothes. You look just lovely."
Marjorie's compliment was very sincere, for she greatly admired her
grandmother, and in spite of her formality, and even severity, Marjorie
had a good deal of affection for her.
The maid was just putting the finishing touches to Mrs. Maynard's
costume, and as she stood; robed in mauve satin, with sparkling diamond
ornaments, she made a handsome picture. Mrs. Maynard was a beautiful
woman, and exceedingly young-looking for her age. There was scarcely a
thread of gray in her dark brown hair, and the natural roses still
bloomed on her soft cheeks.
Marjorie had not seen her grandmother before in full evening attire, and
she walked round, gazing at her admiringly.
"I don't wonder my father is such a handsome man," she said. "He looks
ever so much like you."
Grandma Maynard was pleased at this naïve compliment, for she knew
Marjorie was straightforward and sincere. She smiled at her little
granddaughter, saying, "I'm glad you're pleased with your family's
personal appearance, and I think some day you will grow up to be a pretty
young lady yourself; but you must try to remember that handsome is as
handsome does."
Marjorie's adaptable nature quickly took color from her surroundings and
influences, and gazing at her refined and dignified grandmother, she said
earnestly, "When I grow up, Grandma, I hope I'll look just like you, and
I hope I'll behave just like you. I _am_ rather a naughty little girl;
but you see I was born just chock-full of mischief, and I can't seem to
get over it."
"You are full of mischief, Marjorie, but I think you will outgrow it.
Why, if you lived with me, I believe you'd turn my hair white in a single
night."
"That would be a pity, Grandma," and Marjorie smiled at the carefully
waved brown locks which crowned her grandma's forehead.
"Now I'm going down to dinner, Marjorie,--we have guests coming. But if
you like, you may amuse yourself for a little while looking round this
room. In that treasure cabinet are many pretty curios, and I know I can
trust you to be careful of my things."
"Thank you, Grandma; I will look about here for a little while, and
indeed I will be careful not to harm anything."
So Grandma's satin gown rustled daintily down the stairs, and Marjorie
was left alone in her beautifully appointed bedroom.
She opened the treasure cabinet, and spent a pleasant half hour looking
over the pretty things it contained. She was a careful child, and touched
the things daintily, putting each back in its right place after she
examined it.
Then she locked the glass doors of the cabinet, and walked leisurely
about the room, looking at the pretty furnishings. The dainty toilet
table interested her especialty, and she admired its various
appointments, some of which she did not even know the use of. One
beautiful carved silver affair she investigated curiously, when she
discovered it was a powder box, which shook out scented powder from a
perforated top. Marjorie amused herself, shaking some powder on her hand,
and flicking it on her rosy cheeks. It was a fascinating little affair,
for it worked by an unusual sort of a spring, and Marjorie liked to play
with it.
She wandered about the room with the powder-box still in her hand, and as
she paused a moment at Grandma's bedside, a brilliant idea came to her.
The bed had been arranged for the night. The maid had laid aside the
elaborate lace coverlet and pillow covers, had deftly turned back the bed
clothing in correct fashion, and had put Grandma's night pillow in place.
For some reason, as Marjorie looked at the pillow, there flashed across
her mind what Grandma had said about her hair turning white in a single
night, and acting on a sudden impulse, Marjorie shook powder from the
silver box all over Grandma's pillow. Then chuckling to herself, she
replaced the powder-box on the dressing table, and went to her own room.