THE CHRISTMAS PARTY
"What do you think Sammy Pinkney said in joggerfry class to-day?"
observed Tess, one evening at the supper table.
"'Geography,' dear. Don't try to shorten your words so," begged Ruth.
"I--I forgot," admitted Tess. "'Ge-og-er-fry!' Is that right?"
"Shucks!" exclaimed Agnes. "Let's have the joke. I bet Sammy Pinkney is
always up to something."
"He likes Tess, Sammy does," piped up Dot, "for he gave her Billy
Bumps."
Tess grew fiery red. "I don't want boys liking me!" she declared. "Only
Neale."
"And especially not Sam Pinkney, eh?" said Agnes. "But what happened?
You have us all worked up, Tess."
"Why, Miss Andrews was telling us that the 'stan' at the end of any word
meant 'the place of'--like Afghanistan, the place the Afghans live----"
"That's what Mrs. Adams is knitting," interposed Dot, placidly.
"_What?_" demanded Agnes. "Why, the Afghans are a people--in Asia--right
near India."
"She's knitting one; she told me so," declared Dot, holding her ground
obstinately. "She knits it out of worsted."
"That's right," laughed Ruth. "It's a crocheted 'throw' for a couch. You
are right, Dot; and so are you, too, Aggie."
"Are we ever going to get to Sammy Pinkney?" groaned Agnes.
"Well!" said Tess, indignantly, "I'll tell you, if you'll give me a
chance."
"Sail right in, sister," chuckled Agnes.
"So Miss Andrews said 'stan' meant 'the place of,'" rushed on Tess,
"like Afghanistan, and Hindoostan, 'the place of the Hindoos,' and she
says:
"'Can any of you give another example of the use of "stan" for the end
of a word?' and Sammy says:
"'I can, Miss Andrews. Umbrellastan--the place of the umbrellars,' and
now Sammy," concluded Tess, "can't have any stocking on our Christmas
tree."
"I guess Sammy was trying to be smart," said Dot, gravely.
"He's a smart boy, all right," Agnes chuckled. "I heard him last Sunday
in Sunday school class. He's in Miss Pepperill's class right behind
ours. Miss Pepperill asked Eddie Collins:
"'What happened to Babylon?'
"'It fell,' replied Ed.
"'And what happened to Sodom and Gomorrah?' she asked Robbie Foote, and
Robbie said:
"'They were destroyed, Miss Pepperill.'
"Then she came to Sammy. 'What of Tyre, Sammy?' she asked.
"'Punctured,' said Sammy, and got the whole class to laughing."
"Oh, now, Aggie!" queried Ruth, doubtfully, "isn't that a joke?"
"No more than Tess's story is a joke," giggled the plump girl.
"But it's no joke for Sammy to lose his part in the Christmas
entertainment," said Tess, seriously. "I'm going to buy him a pair of
wristlets, his wrists are so chapped."
"You keep on planning to buy presents for all the boys that are shut out
of participating in the Christmas tree," laughed Ruth, "and you'll use
up all your spending money, Tess."
Tess was reflective. "Boys are always getting into trouble, aren't
they?" she observed. "It's lucky we haven't any in this family."
"I think so myself, Tess," agreed Ruth.
"Well! Nice boys like Neale," spoke up the loyal Dot, "wouldn't hurt any
family."
"But there aren't many nice ones like Neale," said Tess, with
conviction. "'Most always they seem to be getting into trouble and being
punished. The teachers don't like them much."
"Oh, _our_ teacher does," said Dot, eagerly. "There's Jacob Bloomer. You
know--his father is the German baker on Meadow Street. Our teacher used
to like him a lot."
"And what's the matter with Jakey now?" asked Agnes. "Is he in her bad
books?"
"I don't know would you call it 'bad books,'" Dot said. "But he doesn't
bring the teacher a pretzel any more."
"A pretzel!" exclaimed Ruth.
"What a ridiculous thing to bring," said Agnes.
"She liked them," Dot said, nodding. "But she doesn't eat them any
more."
"Why not?" asked Ruth.
"We--ell, Jacob doesn't bring them."
"Do tell us why not!"
"Why," said Dot, earnestly, "you see teacher told Jacob one day that she
liked them, but she wished his father didn't make them so salty. So
after that Jacob always brought teacher a pretzel without any salt on
it.
"'It's very kind,' teacher told Jacob, 'of your father to make me a
pretzel 'specially every day,' she told him, 'without the salt.' And
Jacob told her his father didn't do any such thing; _he_ licked the salt
off before he gave teacher the pretzel--an' she hasn't never eaten any
since, and Jacob's stopped bringing them," concluded Dot.
"Well! what do you think of that?" gasped Agnes. "I should think your
teacher _would_ lose her taste for pretzels."
"But I don't suppose Jacob understands," said Ruth, smiling.
"Oh, Ruth!" cried Agnes, suddenly. "It's at Mr. Bloomer's where Carrie
Poole's having her big party cake made. Lucy told me so. Lucy is
Carrie's cousin, you know."
"I heard about that party," said Tess. "It's going to be _grand_. Are
you and Aggie going, Ruth?"
"I'm sure I don't know," said the oldest Corner House girl. "I haven't
been invited yet."
"Nor me, either," confessed Agnes. "Don't you suppose we shall be? I
want to go, awfully, Ruthie."
"It's the first really _big_ party that's been gotten up this winter,"
agreed Ruth. "I don't know Carrie Poole very well, though she's in my
class."
"They live in a great big farmhouse on the Buckshot Road," Agnes said.
"Lucy told me. A beautiful place. Lots of the girls in my grade are
going. Trix Severn is very good friends with Carrie Poole, they say.
Why, Ruth! can _that_ be the reason why we haven't been invited?"
"_What's_ the reason?"
"'Cause Trix is good friends with Carrie? Trix's mother is some relation
to Mrs. Poole. That Trix girl is so mean I _know_ she'll just work us
out of any invitation to the party."
Agnes' eyes flashed and it looked as though a storm was coming. But Ruth
remained tranquil.
"There will be other parties," the older girl said. "It won't kill us to
miss this one."
"Speak for yourself!" complained Agnes. "It just kill us with some of
the girls. The Pooles are very select. If we are left out of Carrie's
party, we'll be left out of the best of everything that goes on this
winter."
Ruth would not admit to Agnes just how badly she felt about the fact
that they were seemingly overlooked by Carrie Poole in the distribution
of the latter's favors. The party was to be on the Friday night of the
week immediately preceding Christmas.
There had been no snow of any consequence as yet, but plenty of cold
weather. Milton Pond was safely frozen over and the Corner House girls
were there almost every afternoon. Tess was learning to skate and Ruth
and Agnes took turns drawing Dot about the pond on her sled.
Neale O'Neil had several furnaces to attend to now, and he always looked
after the removal of the ashes to the curbline, and did other dirty
work, immediately after school. But as soon as his work was finished he,
too, hurried to the pond.
Neale was a favorite with the girls--and without putting forth any
special effort on his part to be so. He was of a retiring disposition,
and aside from his acquaintanceship with some of the boys of his grade
and his friendship with the Corner House girls, Neale O'Neil did not
appear to care much for youthful society.
For one thing, Neale felt his position keenly. He was the oldest scholar
in his class. Miss Shipman considered him her brightest pupil, but the
fact remained that he really should have been well advanced in high
school. Ruth Kenway was only a year older than Neale.
His size, his good looks, and his graceful skating, attracted the
attention of the older girls who sought the Milton Pond for recreation.
"There's that Neale O'Neil," said Carrie Poole, to some friends, on this
particular afternoon, when she saw the boy putting on his skates. "Don't
any of you girls know him? I want him at my party."
"He's dreadfully offish," complained Pearl Harrod.
"He seems to be friendly enough with the Corner House girls," said
Carrie. "If they weren't such stuck-up things----"
"Who says they're stuck up?" demanded her cousin Lucy. "I'm sure Aggie
isn't."
"Trix says she is. And I must say Ruth keeps to herself a whole lot.
She's in my class but I scarcely ever speak to her," said Carrie.
"Now you've said something," laughed Eva Larry. "Ruth isn't a girl who
puts herself forward, believe me!"
"They're all four jolly girls," declared Lucy.
"The kids and all."
"Oh! I don't want any kids out to the house Friday night," said Carrie.
"Do you mean to say you haven't asked Aggie and Ruth?" gasped Pearl.
"Not yet."
"Why not?" demanded Lucy, bluntly.
"Why----I don't know them very well," said Carrie, hastily. "But I _do_
want that Neale O'Neil. So few boys know how to act at a party. And I
wager _he_ dances."
"I can tell you right now," said Lucy, "you'll never get him to come
unless the Corner House girls are invited. Why! they're the only girls
of us all who know him right well."
"I am going to try him," said Carrie Poole, with sudden decision.
She skated right over to Neale O'Neil just as he had finished strapping
on the cobbler's old skates that had been lent him. Carrie Poole was a
big girl--nearly seventeen. She was too wise to attack Neale directly
with the request she had to make.
"Mr. O'Neil," she said, with a winning smile, "I saw you doing the
'double-roll' the other day, and you did it so easily! I've been trying
to get it for a long while. Will you show me--please--just a little?"
Even the gruffest boy could scarcely escape from such a net--and Neale
O'Neil was never impolite. He agreed to show her, and did so. Of course
they became more or less friendly within a few minutes.
"It's so kind of you," said Carrie, when she had managed to get the
figure very nicely. "I'm a thousand times obliged. But it wasn't just
this that I wanted to talk with you about."
Neale looked amazed. He was not used to the feminine mind.
"I wanted to pluck up my courage," laughed Carrie, "to ask you to come
to my party Friday evening. Just a lot of the boys and girls, all of
whom you know, I am sure. I'd dearly love to have you come, Mr. O'Neil."
"But--but I don't really know _your_ name," stammered Neale.
"Why! I'm Carrie Poole."
"And I'm sure I don't know where you live," Neale hastened to say. "It's
very kind of you----"
"Then you'll come?" cried Carrie, confidently. "We live out of town--on
the Buckshot Road. Anybody will tell you."
"I suppose the Kenway girls will know," said Neale, doubtfully. "I can
go along with them."
Carrie was a girl who thought quickly. She had really promised Trix
Severn that she would not invite Ruth and Agnes Kenway to her party; but
how could she get out of doing just that under these circumstances?
"Of course," she cried, with apparently perfect frankness. "I sincerely
hope they'll both come. And I can depend upon you to be there, Mr.
O'Neil?"
Then she skated straight away and found Ruth and Agnes and invited them
for Friday night in a most graceful way.
"I wanted to ask you girls personally instead of sending a formal
invite," she said, warmly. "You being new girls, you know. You'll come?
That's so kind of you! I shouldn't feel that the party would be a
success if you Corner House girls were not there."
So that is how they got the invitation; but at the time the Kenway
sisters did not suspect how near they came to not being invited at all
to the Christmas party.