THE PARTY
The household at Gray Manor looked upon the heavy fall of snow with
varying emotions. Harkness lamented loudly: "It might 'a held off for
Missy's party. If it was the old days--well, the county lydies could a'
come in their sleighs. All right as far as the post road goes, but the
Grangers--"
Downstairs Budge rejoiced that the Grangers might not come. "Eyes like a
ferret that woman has and like as not she never got over our boy's
going. She'd say things _was_ going to sixes and sevens, with a little
thing no bigger'n a penny in our boy's shoes--she would. But I'd like to
know who ever'll eat all the stuff I'm fixing!" The house cleaned to a
fine polish from attic to cellar, Mrs. Budge had turned her attention
most generously to the food.
"Why does everyone care about Mrs. Granger?" asked Robin, of Harkness,
when even Percival Tubbs regretted, with a sigh, that Mrs. Granger might
not find it possible to come.
"Well, you might say she's next lydy to Madame herself," explained
Harkness. "In the old days her people and the Manor people were thick
like and visited backward and forward. And there was talk of young
Christopher some day marrying the young lydy, Miss Alicia. I hear tell
his death was a sad blow to them. They haven't been coming much to the
Manor since, but we laid it to Madame's queer ways and the gloom."
"Will the others be able to come? Won't Mrs. Budge have _lots_ too much
food?"
"Well, you might say most will make it, for they keep the post roads
open. We'll hope for the best, missy," he added, interpreting Robin's
anxious questioning as an expression of disappointment.
But Robin's sudden concern over the party had nothing to do with the
coming of Mrs. Granger or anyone else. As she had stood in the window,
her nose flattened against the pane, staring out at the snowy slopes,
she had been suddenly inspired by a beautiful plan. She turned to Beryl.
"Can something be sent up from New York in a day?"
"Depends." Beryl answered shortly. "What?"
With one of the lightning-like decisions, characteristic of her, Robin
decided not to take Beryl into her confidence--just yet.
"Oh, I was thinking. Something about my party. I'll tell you--later."
Beryl stared at Robin a little suspiciously--Robin looked queer,
all-tight-inside, as though she'd made up her mind to do something. It
was the new Robin again. Oh, well, if she didn't want to tell--
After luncheon Robin donned her warm outer garments and slipped out of
the house while Beryl was practicing. To carry out her plan, now fully
grown, she must send a telegram and see Mrs. Lynch.
Two hours later, flushed and excited, she hunted down Mrs. Budge, whom
she found mixing savory concoctions in a huge bowl.
"M'm, how good things smell," she began, to break down the hostility she
saw in Budge's eye, "Is that for the party?"
"'S going to be," and Budge stirred more vigorously than ever.
"Mrs. Budge, will there be enough food for--some extra ones--I've
invited or I'm--going to invite?"
Budge dropped her spoon. "Well, no one ever went hungry in _this_
house," she answered crisply. "May I ask who _your_ guests are?" Budge
permitted herself the pleasure of a meaning inflection on the "your."
"Well, I'm not quite sure--yet, only I wanted to know about the food--"
Robin retreated step by step toward the door, her limp exaggerated by
the movement. "I'm waiting for word from my guardian."
"_Robin_! Humph," Budge flung at the door as it closed upon the girl.
"If it wasn't that this house depended on me I'd drop my spoon and walk
out this minit, I would, or my name ain't Hannah Budge. Guests! Like as
not some of these Mill truck."
More than the snowstorm threatened the success of Robin's "at-home." For
Cornelius Allendyce was suddenly prostrated by a bad attack of
sciatica. And his sister declared she could not leave him; at such times
only her patient and faithful ministrations eased his intense suffering.
"I'll telephone to Wassumsic right away and don't you worry," she begged
of him, "they'll get along somehow or other."
"They'll have to," the guardian growled, between groans.
But before Miss Effie could telephone, Robin's telegram came. Cornelius
Allendyce opened it with indifferent fingers, read it, then rose upright
with such suddenness that a loud cry of pain burst from him.
"Will you listen to this? That child wants me to express fifty sleds to
the Manor, at once! Read it and see if I've gone crazy."
"There, there, lie still, Cornelius--I don't care if she wants fifty
sleds or fifty hundred. Send them to her and wait until you're well to
find out if she coasted on all of them or wanted them for kindling wood.
There--I knew it'd make your pain worse. Wait--I'll warm this!" All
solicitous, for her brother's face had twisted in agony, the sister
dropped the telegram and busied herself over her patient.
Her advice seemed good. "Well, send them. Tell them to rush the order,"
he groaned, then gave himself over to his suffering with, somewhere back
in his head, the thought that there was quite a bit more to being a
guardian than he had calculated.
So while Harkness and Budge and Mrs. Williams, pressed into service,
made the old Manor festive with flowers and pine boughs, Robin completed
the plans for her part of the party, and confided to Beryl that fifty of
the Mill youngsters were coming to the Manor to coast on the sloping
hillside.
"Robin Forsyth, what ever will they all say?"
"Who?" demanded Robin, with aggravating innocence.
"All the guests. Why, Robin, you're hopeless! You simply can't get it
into your head that the Forsyths are different from--the Mill people."
"They're not. And we haven't time to argue now. They're coming--a lot of
them. Your mother invited them for me through the school teacher--you
see, there wasn't time for me to, because I didn't know where the
younger children lived. My guardian has sent on the duckiest sleds--all
red. Williams brought them up and they're out in the garage. He's going
to take charge of my part of the party."
"Does Budge know?"
Robin hated to admit that she had been afraid to tell Budge. She flushed
ever so slightly. "N-no. At least I told her there were some extra
coming. Oh, Beryl, _don't_ act as though you thought everything was
going to be a failure. I thought--as long as there was going to be this
stupid old reception here and lots of nice food, it was the _only_ time
to have a party for the kiddies, for Budge would never cook a crumb if
it were just for them. I wish my guardian were here--I _know_ he'd
understand."
"Where are they going to eat?"
"The ladies? Oh, the children. I've told Harkness to put a table in the
conservatory and make it Christmasy."
"You're clever, Robin. Harkness will do it for you--but, oh, he'll hate
it; I can hear him--'things aren't like they used to be.' As my father'd
say-you're killing the goose that lays the golden egg, all righto. Budge
will tell Madame, sure's anything."
"What do you mean?" asked Robin quietly, a little gleam in her eyes.
"Why, stupid, the Forsyths aren't going to stand for that sort of thing.
They'll send you back--"
"Beryl, do you think I'm staying here for the Forsyth money--or--or care
about it? I came here so that Jimmie could go away without worrying
about me. When he comes home I shall go back to him, of course."
"Leave Gray Manor?" Beryl's voice rang incredulously.
"Of course. I like it here and there are lots of things I want to do,
but when Jimmie comes back--if he wants me--" her voice trembled.
Beryl stared at Robin as though she saw a strange creature in the
familiar guise. "You _are_ the queerest girl. You don't seem to care for
the things money can get for you!" She had to pause, to pick her words.
"Why, if _I_ had the chance--all the advantages, and taking lovely
trips, and the fun. You could go to one of these girls' schools and play
tennis and golf and ride horseback! And always have pretty clothes!" The
bitter edge to Beryl's voice betrayed how much she would like these
things.
"Would you desert your mother and--and Dale for things like that? Would
you?"
In her relentless dreaming, in her sturdy ambitions, Beryl had never put
such a question to herself. She had simply never seen them in her
picture. She evaded a direct answer now.
"They'd want me to!"
"Of course they would. Mothers and fathers are like that. Just
unselfish. But you wouldn't give your mother up for anything. I know you
wouldn't."
Beryl turned away from Robin's searching eyes. In her innermost
heart--an honest heart it was--she was not quite sure; her life had been
different from Robin's, she had been taught to want fine things and go
straight for them; so had Dale. If getting them meant sacrificing
sentiment--well, she'd do it. So, perhaps, would Dale (and Robin thought
Dale perfect). But she couldn't make Robin understand because Robin had
never wanted anything big--Beryl always fell back upon this comforting
thought.
"Well, you'd better get Harkness in line and don't get so interested in
your kids that you forget Mrs. Granger. She _is_ coming--they
telephoned that the road is open."
Robin dropped an impulsive kiss on the top of Beryl's head to show her
that, no matter how much they disagreed, they were good friends, and
went off in search of Harkness.
The appointed hour for the reception found the Manor and its servants
ready. With myriad lights, gleaming from candles and chandeliers,
reflecting in the polished surfaces of old wood and silver and bronze,
the air sweet with the scent of pine and flowers, the old Manor had
something of the brilliancy of other days. But, in sad contrast to the
old days, now poor Budge watched the extra help from the village with a
dour and suspicious eye and Harkness, dignified in his faded livery,
made the "extra" table in the conservatory as Christmasy as he could,
with a heart heavy with doubt as to the "fitness" of Missy's whims.
Robin, in her Madonna blue dress, looked very small in the stately
drawing room. There Percival Tubbs patiently explained, for the
hundredth time, with just what words she must greet her guests, as
Harkness announced them; and Robin listened dutifully, with her thoughts
on the hillside beyond the long windows where already red sleds were
flying up and down the snowy slope and childish voices were lifting in
glee.
True to Mrs. Budge's predictions, Mrs. Crosswaithe, from Sharon, arrived
first. Robin saw masses of velvet and plumes and a sharp, wizened face
somewhere in the midst of it all. She forgot Mr. Tubbs' careful
teaching, said "I'm pleased to know you," instead, and held out her hand
to the tall, thin, mannishly dressed young woman behind Mrs.
Crosswaithe, who, though Robin did not know it, was Mrs. Crosswaithe's
daughter.
For an hour the guests arrived in as steady a stream as their
high-powered cars could carry them through the heavy roads. The Manor
had not been opened like this for years and the "best people in the
county" took advantage of the opportunity to look for signs of failing
fortunes, to see the "girl" who had come to the Manor, and to find out
just where Madame was travelling. Thanks to Budge's heroic work no one
discovered any sign of change in the old house; their questioning only
met with disappointment, and Budge's food was of much more interest than
the young heiress who, they decided, was a pretty little thing but much
too small for her age.
Robin shook hands until her arm ached, mumbled the wrong thing most of
the time which, however, did not seem to make any difference with
anyone, and kept one eye longingly on the window, and one ear listening
for the shouts outside which were growing louder and louder. She seized
an opportunity to go to the window and watch, so that when the great
Mrs. Granger arrived Mr. Tubbs had to, a little sharply, recall her to
her duty.
"Isn't she--awful?" whispered Robin to Beryl, as Mrs. Granger, after
condescendingly patting Robin's hand, swept on.
"She thinks _she's_ so grand, but she ought to see the Queen!" Which
observation would have enraged Mrs. Granger, had she heard it, for she
had felt particular satisfaction in her dress and hat, sent on, only the
day before, from the most expensive shop in New York.
"Miss Alicia didn't come--she's in California. Say, Robin, there's a
Granger boy, 'bout eighteen. Maybe that's why my lady Granger's so sweet
to you."
"Silly!" Robin flung at Beryl in retort. "Oh, dear, can't I go out to my
own guests now?"
Robin and Williams had planned that the children should be admitted to
the conservatory through a side door, leaving their outer garments in a
vestibule. So, when everything was in readiness for them, Harkness gave
the sign, and Williams herded his noisy troupe to the house.
Many of the older guests had been present at that memorable birthday
party on young Christopher's eighteenth birthday and they recalled now,
over their salad plates, the brilliancy of that affair and touched upon
all that had happened since in the way of change. Mrs. Granger displayed
much emotion.
"_That_ made a picture I will never forget!" and she nodded toward the
glass doors, curtained in soft silk, which led from the dining room to
the conservatory and which Harkness had carefully closed. "I wonder if I
might just peep in? Ah, the memories. My dear Alicia and that handsome
boy--" she touched a lacy handkerchief to her eyes.
Several who had overheard her followed Mrs. Granger to the closed doors
and stood behind her as she opened them. And their eyes beheld a sight
so different from that birthday party that they stepped back in
amazement, Mrs. Granger lifting her lorgnette in trembling fingers.
Youngsters of every size and of every degree of greed crowded around the
long table, the "Christmasy" decoration of which had already been pulled
to pieces by eager reaching hands. Faces, still red from the crisp air
and streaked where dirty coat sleeves had rubbed them, beamed across the
heaping plates, busy fingers crammed away the goodies. One small boy
half-lay across the table; another stood in his chair, his frayed woolen
cap set rakishly back and over one ear. On each excited countenance a
shadow of suspicion mingled with the joy, a fear that the same magic
which had brought it might snatch all this strange and lovely fun away.
Harkness watched at one end of the table, Williams at another. And in
their midst sat Robin.
"Well, I never!" murmured Mrs. Granger. Her exclamation was drowned,
however, in the babble of youthful sound let loose upon the "best people
of the County" by the opening of the door. "Miss Gordon is going in for
the pretty charity thing, is she?"
All might have gone well even then--for Harkness had a stern eye on
everyone of Robin's small guests--had not little Susy seen her beloved
"big girl" slip through the group at the big glass doors. Susy was the
youngest of the children there; she did not go to school regularly
enough to feel at home with the others, she had refused to slide, and,
at the table had not really begun to enjoy herself until Robin had sat
down next to her, put her arm around her and coaxed her to eat the food
on the plate before her. The food had turned out to be very good and
Susy had crammed it down with her fingers, regardless of fork or spoon.
Now her "big girl" had slipped away, she was alone, that man at the end
was staring at her, panic seized her, a mad longing to escape,
anywhere--preferably back to the shelter of the "big girl's" friendly
arm. She slid down from her seat, her eyes wildly sweeping the room;
Harkness, like an ogre, guarded one end of the table, Williams' bulk
stood between her and the outer door; there was only the one way,
through the glass doors. Head down, she ran swiftly the length of the
conservatory and bolted into the little group of people watching from
the dining room door. Someone big blocked her way. With frightened hands
she pushed at her.
"Want Granny! _Want Granny!_ Get 'way! Uh-h-h!"
"The dreadful little thing!" someone said.
Robin, hearing the shrill cry, rushed to the rescue, and, kneeling,
gathered poor weeping Susy into a close embrace. Over the child's
tousled head she smiled nervously at her staring guests.
"Poor little thing, she's shy!" Then, feeling Susy quivering in her
clasp, she whispered something magical in her ears. It was only: "Robin
will keep tight hold of your hand, Susy-girl, and you needn't be a bit
frightened and by and by, if you're quiet, we'll fill a bag of goodies
for your brother and Granny." But it soothed Susy at once, and, clinging
to Robin's hand, she stared at the guests from the shelter of Robin's
skirts.
There was a little stir among the "best people of the County"--a renewal
of the chatter, high-pitched, pleasant nothings, and side remarks, in
careful undertones.
"Certainly, not a bit like a Forsyth."
"I rather think Madame doesn't know what is going on here."
"Fancy entertaining these little persons and Mrs. Granger with the same
spoon, so to speak."
And, in a corner, Mrs. Granger was raging over the damaging imprint of
two sticky hands on the delicate fabric of her costly gown. For her's
had been the bulk that had stood between Susy and her "big girl," and
Susy had been eating chocolate marshmallow cake with both hands!
Mrs. Granger had come to Gray Manor with the intention of coaxing Miss
Gordon to spend Christmas at Wyckham, the Granger home. But, as she made
ineffectual dabs at the greasy spots on her skirt with her silly little
handkerchief, she put such a thought quite away from her mind.
"Brat!" she cried under her breath, angrily, and from the way she glared
at Robin and Susy no one could have told which of the two she meant.