"BUT she hasn't any dress!" my mother cried, in consternation. "Only
that white Sunday one which is much too short!"
"Let down a tuck," my grandmother said, decisively. "That would lengthen
it."
"Oh, do let down a tuck, mother!" I echoed, eagerly.
I had a little pink envelope hugged up close against my apron. On the
outside it had "Miss Rhoda Harcourt" written in very large letters, and
on the inside it invited me to a party! I was not quite sure what people
did at a party; but I knew it must be something delightful, judging from
the commotion the pink envelope made in the family. There was a
whirlwind of talk about white dresses, and new slippers, and blue bows,
and in the midst of the discussion Auntie May caught up her dress and
danced.
"Come here, Rhoda," she called. "This is what they do at a party. Come.
I will teach you how."
I braced my back, stiffly, and let her haul me around. This was a
serious matter, and must be undertaken with a sober mind.
"She hasn't any spring in her," Auntie May exclaimed, ruefully. "Who
would think that she is related to me!"
"She does not come of a dancing family," my grandmother replied, with a
cold smile. "The Harcourts look after their souls, and let their feet
alone."
Auntie May made a wry face. She was my mother's sister.
"Don't shut up like a knife, Rhoda," she said, disconsolately. "Let
yourself go. There, I believe the Lawrence side of the family is waking
up at last!"
She looked so pretty as she danced in the firelight that I tried to be
like her. I copied her courtesies, and followed her steps, and when, at
length, she fell breathlessly into a chair, I leaned against her knee
with my hand on her pink cheek.
"Auntie May, are you going, too?" I asked, confidentially.
Somehow I thought it would be rather nice to have Auntie May there, just
for company.
"Child!" she cried, with a grand air, "it's a children's party. I am
sixteen!"
I felt the rebuke. I was only seven myself, and there were whole
centuries between us. It was strange, though, how sometimes Auntie May
would play with my dolls, and sometimes she would tuck up her hair and
keep me at arm's length. I never knew which she was going to be--little
girl or grown woman.
Auntie May did not live with us, but in another house with a lady who
called herself my frivolous grandmother, and curled her hair every day
of her life. Grandmother Harcourt wore sober black silk dresses, but
this other grandmother liked blue and pink, and even sometimes a gallant
touch of red that made her look almost young again. Whenever she looked
her youngest, she was greatly pleased, and curled her hair triumphantly.
At family meetings the two grandmothers often made those curls the
subject for discussion, and oftener still it was my dress and manners
which never seemed to suit either of them. One wanted me very quiet and
subdued, and dressed in gingham, and the other wanted me very gay and
lively, and dressed in silk. As grandmother Harcourt lived in our
house, she had the advantage, and, save for occasional bursts of
splendor, I went in great meekness of spirit and dress.
I had thought at first that there was going to be trouble about the
party. My frivolous grandmother objected seriously to the idea of that
tuck. She seemed to think that I should look very shabby among the other
little girls. She spoke of her position, and of the great pleasure that
it would give her to buy me a dress.
"Nellie," she urged, almost with tears in her eyes, "let me buy Rhoda a
suitable dress. You surely don't want that unfortunate child to go to
the Otway's with a tuck let down!"
Grandmother Harcourt did not say anything. I fancy that she must have
had it all arranged beforehand, for, after a rather appealing look at
her, my mother declined the offer in a faint, reluctant voice.
I did not care what I wore. I was going to a party. That was enough for
me. All the night before I could not sleep, and when, at last, the hour
drew near, and I stood before my mother while she gave a final touch to
my floating hair, I felt that it was all a dream. It was a dream going
down the stairs while the twins, in their nightgowns, peeped after me,
and it was a dream getting into the carriage which Auntie May had
brought to take me. The very streets were a dream, with little
white-clad girls passing in our direction and little boys, with stiff
white collars and solemn faces, walking along behind them. And most of
all that big house on the hill was a dream, with the lights shining in
all its windows, and the rows of Chinese lanterns in the piazza, and a
nearby violin letting off cheerful notes of preparation.
"Mrs. Otway is giving this party for the two little grandchildren who
are visiting her," Auntie May said, peering out of the carriage window.
"They come from the city. They are cousins. You saw them in church on
Sunday."
So that was who they were! I felt that I had learned something. Only the
Sunday before there had come into the pew before me, first a little boy,
and then a little girl, followed by a party of ladies. The little boy
sat up in the far end of the pew, just as I did, and he had a high silk
hat laid on the cushion beside him, and an elegant cane with a silver
head to which he seemed much attached. I never noticed little boys as a
rule. I divided them into two classes: boys who walked clumsily, in
heavy boots, and glanced sidewise at me, and _bad_ boys who made awful
faces from behind trees. Never to one of them had I said a single word.
That boy, however, was something quite different. I knew that as soon as
I looked at him. He had a light graceful figure, and brave, beautiful
eyes. When he gazed over his shoulder and smiled at me, I felt strangely
pleased. It was as though some one whom I had known a long time ago had
come again.
"Oh, so _he_ is Theodore Otway!" I cried, unguardedly, remembering the
name on my pink invitation.
Auntie May laughed a whole minute, just about nothing at all.
"You get down here, Rhoda," she said. "Now, remember to shake out your
hair the way that I showed you. And don't you get frightened as you
always do. Your dress isn't very fine; but there is one thing that is
nice about it. It has real lace basted in the neck. Mother put it in.
Just fancy, grandmother Harcourt never noticed! Always give your right
hand first in the ladies' chain. You are the only little girl who has
come in a carriage. Oh, dear me, I wish that it wasn't a children's
party! I'd just love to go in! The lovely, lovely music! What shall you
do, Rhoda, if you get very frightened?"
"I'll shut my eyes, and think that I'm in church," I answered, soberly.
"Good heavens!" I heard her cry as the carriage drove away, "there's the
other side of the family coming out after all!"
I went up the steps rather breathlessly. There was a big lump rising in
my throat, as if I had run miles and miles. I wondered if they would let
me in, or if I would have to say what my name was. I was not real sure
in my mind that I knew what my name was. Once, years ago, I had been
called Rhoda, but Rhoda always went to bed at seven o'clock. This was a
new little girl, a fairy child, who walked under globes of fire
straight into fairy-land.
Up, up, I went, past a man with shining buttons who held the door open
very graciously for me, past shrubs and flowers banked along the
staircase, into a room where there was a great hum of voices. Ever so
many little girls, dozens of them, were taking off their hats, and
shaking out their skirts, and doing what grandmother called "prinking"
before a great glass. I prinked a little myself, following out Auntie
May's directions. I thought that I looked rather nice. A woman in a
white cap seemed to think so, too. She took a great deal of pains with
me, and when the other little girls, who knew one another, went down the
stairs in a group, she led me by the hand to the staircase, and showed
me where to go.
It was very hard to walk down the stairs alone. I had such a queer
feeling, and I could not see a thing for a mist before my eyes. I went
quite slowly, step by step. I could hear the people in the parlor
talking.
A lady said, "How pretty!" and a boy's voice cried, "Here she is! Here
she is, at last!"
Then in a moment some one was shaking my hand. Little by little the mist
cleared from before my eyes, and I saw that I was at the party.
The parlor was a long room, running the whole length of the house, but
it looked crowded that night. There were groups of little girls, all
those whom I had seen upstairs, and more besides, and lots and lots of
little boys who stood in corners and laughed among themselves. There
were lights on the walls and flowers everywhere, and the few grown-up
people who moved about seemed just as gay and festive as the children.
By the door were stationed Theodore Otway and his cousin, and she had
on a lovely pink dress with cascades of little bows falling down her
back. All the grown-up ladies seemed to watch her, and when she pranced
and shook her bows I heard a lady say, "Paris!" in an awed tone.
There was such a hubbub everywhere that I did not notice at first that a
boy, whom I had never seen before, was writing his name on my programme.
He was quite a stout boy in tight clothes.
"I'll take this first one, just to make sure," he said. "Maybe, after
awhile, I'll dance with you again. Don't you forget what I look like."
"No," I answered, humbly.
"That's right," he continued, patronizingly. "What's your name?"