“IT”
After several dances Mrs. Morse proposed that the young people should
play a game of some sort.
Nobody seemed to know of any particular game to play, until Ruth
volunteered to explain to them a new game that had recently made its
appearance in Boston.
The game was called “It,” and was great fun, Ruth said, if the players
would agree to keep their temper.
All present willingly agreed to do this.
“It’s really only difficult for one,” explained Ruth; “the one who does
the guessing must be guaranteed to possess a temper that is positively
incapable of being ruffled under any provocation.”
Although entirely unfamiliar with the details of Ruth’s game, it
suddenly occurred to Patty that here was an excellent chance to test the
quality of Lorraine’s reform in the matter of amiability. So she said:
“If you want someone good-natured to do your guessing, I propose
Lorraine Hamilton.”
Lorraine looked up suddenly, caught Patty’s glance, and determined that
she would prove herself worthy of the confidence Patty had shown in her.
“I’ll do it,” she said, “and I’ll agree not to lose my temper, whatever
your game may be.”
“You’ll be tempted to,” said Ruth; “I warn you that ‘It’ is a most
exasperating and provoking game.”
“I’ll risk it,” said Lorraine; “what must I do first?”
“First, you must leave the room while I explain the game to the others,”
said Ruth; “go out in the hall, please, entirely out of hearing, and
don’t come back until we send for you.”
“Very well,” said Lorraine, gaily; “when you want me you’ll find me
sitting on the stairs, with my fingers in my ears.”
“Now,” said Ruth, after Lorraine had gone, “we must all sit round in a
sort of an oblong circle.”
“An ‘oblong circle’ is easily managed,” said Clifford Morse, as he began
to arrange chairs around the walls of the long parlour. The other boys
helped him, and soon the whole party were sitting in a continuous ring
around the room.
“The game,” went on Ruth, “is to have Lorraine guess, by asking
questions, an object which we’ve all agreed upon. That part of the game
is something like ‘Twenty Questions,’ but the difference is, that
instead of taking a single object we each of us have in mind our
_right-hand neighbour_. For instance, Patty’s right-hand neighbour, as
we sit, is Kenneth Harper, but his right-hand neighbour is Adelaide
Hart. So you see, we must each answer Lorraine’s questions truthfully,
but in regard to the person who sits at our right-hand; and the answers
will seem to her contradictory and confusing.”
Patty was quick-witted enough to see at once that these conflicting
answers would seem like ridiculing Lorraine’s intelligence, and would
certainly be provoking enough to make anyone angry. It was a severe
test, but she privately determined that if Lorraine showed signs of
irritation, she would explain the game at once, and not allow it to be
played to a finish.
When everybody thoroughly understood the directions, Clifford went out,
and escorted Lorraine back to the parlour.
Then Clifford resumed his seat, and Lorraine was left sitting on a piano
stool in the middle of the room, so that she might twirl about and face
each one in turn.
“We have all agreed upon an object,” said Ruth, “which we want you to
guess. You may question us each in turn, and you may ask any questions
you choose; if your questions can be answered by yes or no, we’re
obliged to answer them, but if not, we may do as we choose about it. Now
suppose you begin with me, and then go right around toward the right.”
“Wait a moment, Lorraine,” said Patty; “before you start remember this:
everything we tell you will be the exact truth, although it may not seem
so.”
“Very well,” said Lorraine, “I’ll begin with Ruth. Does It belong to the
animal, vegetable, or mineral kingdom?”
“Animal,” answered Ruth.
“How large is It?” asked Lorraine of Gertrude Lyons, who sat next to
Ruth.
“Which way?” said Gertrude, laughing.
“Well, how long is It?”
“About two yards,” replied Gertrude, mentally measuring the tall boy who
sat on her right.
“What colour is It?” asked Lorraine next.
“Green,” responded Dick Martin, with a side-long glance at the frock of
the girl next to him.
“Is It all green?”
“No,” said the girl in green, “it is mostly black.” This of course was
true, as her right-hand neighbour was a boy in black clothes.
Lorraine began to look puzzled. “It seems queer,” she said, “that one of
you should say it is all green, and another that it is mostly black. But
I suppose one of you must be colour-blind.”
They all laughed at this, and Lorraine went on: “Where did It come
from?”
Lorraine asked this question of a boy who sat next to Margaret Lane, who
was from Philadelphia.
“From Philadelphia,” he replied.
“Is It Margaret Lane?” asked Lorraine of Margaret herself.
“No,” she replied, laughing.
“Is It anything belonging to Margaret Lane?”
“No.”
“Has It any connection whatever with Margaret Lane?”
“None that I know of.”
“To whom does It belong?”
Lorraine asked this question of a girl who sat next to a young cadet
from West Point, so she replied: “To the United States.”
“Is It in stripes?”
“Yes,” replied the cadet, after glancing at the striped dress of the
girl next to him.
“Then It’s the flag!” exclaimed Lorraine, triumphantly.
But they all told her she had guessed wrong, and she good-naturedly went
on with her queries.
“Has It anything to do with the army?”
“Nothing, except that It carries arms,” said the waggish boy whom she
asked.
“Is It a person?”
“Yes.”
“Is the person in this room?”
“Yes.”
“Is It a boy or girl?”
“A boy.”
“What colour hair has It?”
“Flaxen,” was the answer, as the boy she asked was seated next to a
yellow-haired girl.
But Lorraine, having been told it was a boy, looked around the room for
a flaxen-haired boy. There was only one present, so she announced
triumphantly: “Then It is Ed Fisher!”
Again they told her she was wrong, and the burst of laughter at her
bewilderment would have greatly offended Lorraine had it not been for
her determination to keep her temper.
“I’m glad you told me that you’re all telling the truth,” she said, “for
I’m sure your stories don’t agree. You said it was a boy, and had flaxen
hair, and Ed Fisher is the only one here with yellow hair.”
“Go on with your questions,” said Patty.
“All right,” said Lorraine, beginning where she had left off; “what
colour eyes has It?”
“Black.”
“Oh, then of course it isn’t Ed Fisher! Now, Patty, I’ve come to you. Is
It good-looking?”
Kenneth sat on Patty’s right-hand, and with a mischievous twinkle in her
eyes Patty replied, “Oh, not very.”
They all laughed at this, and Lorraine, passing on to Kenneth, said; “Do
_you_ think It is good-looking?”
Here was a chance to tease Patty in return, for Adelaide sat on
Kenneth’s right hand, and the boy said: “Oh, _very_ beautiful! Quite the
best-looking person I know.”
Then they all laughed again, and Lorraine grew more and more bewildered.
“Is It good-natured?” she asked of Adelaide.
Editha sat next to her sister, and so Adelaide said: “No; It is often as
cross as a bear.”
“Then,” said Lorraine to Editha, “is It myself?”
“No, indeed,” replied Editha, “but It is one of your dearest friends.”
Clementine sat next, and Lorraine asked her: “Does It go to the Oliphant
school?”
“No, indeed!” said Clementine, for Roger Farrington was her right-hand
neighbour; “It wouldn’t be allowed there!”
“_Why_ wouldn’t It be allowed to go to the Oliphant school,” demanded
Lorraine of Roger.
“Why, It _does_ go there,” said Roger, glancing at Mary Sargent.
“Does It, Mary?” went on Lorraine.
“No,” said Mary, positively; “I’m sorry to contradict Roger, but, as
Clementine says, Miss Oliphant wouldn’t let It come to our school.”
“Which am I to believe?” said Lorraine then, to Clifford Morse; “you
tell me, Clifford, does It go to our school?”
“Yes,” said Clifford, earnestly, “It certainly does!”
“Well,” said Lorraine in despair, “I’ll have to give this thing up. I
believe you’re speaking the truth, but there seems to be a whole lot of
truths. However, I’ll try once more. Is It a boy or a girl?”
“It’s a girl,” declared Hilda.
“What colour dress does It wear, Flossy?”
“Black,” said Flossy, thinking of the boy next to her.
“Of course you’re speaking the truth,” said Lorraine, with a comical
smile, “but there isn’t a girl in the room with a black dress on. What’s
her dress trimmed with, Ed?”
The boy looked at Maude Carleton, who sat next to him. Then he said:
“It’s dress is trimmed with a sort of feathery, fluffery, white, lacy
ruching.”
“Why, that’s the trimming on Maude’s dress,” declaimed Lorraine, “but
her dress isn’t black. Maude, _is_ It _you_?”
“No,” said Maude, positively.
“I give it up,” said Lorraine; “I promised to keep my temper, and I
have; I promised to believe you all told me the truth, and I do; but I
didn’t promise to guess your old It, and I can’t do it; I give It up.”
“You’re a trump, Lorraine,” cried Patty; “anybody else would have been
as mad as hops long before this. Now we’ll tell you.”
So they explained the game to Lorraine, and she realised how they _had_
each told her the truth, although it didn’t seem so at the time. She was
glad she had kept good-natured about it, though it had been more of an
effort than anyone had realised.
Then other games were played, which were less of a tax on the young
people’s ingenuity, and after that supper was served.
Mrs. Morse well knew how to provide for young people, and she was quite
prepared for the demands of their healthy appetites. Sandwiches and
salad disappeared as if by magic; jellies, ices and cake followed, and
were thoroughly enjoyed by all.
Patty and Ruth, with Lorraine, Hilda and the Hart girls, sat in a little
group at one end of the dining-room; while the boys went on foraging
expeditions, and returned laden with all sorts of good things.
“It’s almost Christmas,” said Clifford Morse; “what are you going to do
to-morrow, Patty?”
“We’re all going to Vernondale for a couple of days,” said Patty, “and
when we come back I want you all to come and see Ruth some afternoon.”
“I’m going to Vernondale, too,” said Kenneth; “my aunt has invited me to
spend the day; in fact to stay as long as I choose. So if I may, I’ll go
on the _Fairfield Special_ to-morrow morning.”
“You may, if you’ll be good,” said Patty, “but Grandma doesn’t like bad
boys, and Ruth is afraid of them.”
“I’ll be so good,” said Kenneth, “that Mrs. Elliott won’t know me; and
I’ll promise not to scare Ruth once.”
Then the clock struck twelve, and the Cinderella party was over.
Everybody started for hats and wraps, and Patty found her father
awaiting her.
“Well, Chickens,” said Mr. Fairfield, as he bundled the two tired girls
into the carriage, “did you have a good time?”
“Lovely!” exclaimed Patty; “I’d like to go to a party every night.”
“So would I,” said Ruth.