In Blue Creek Canon Part 7

"I don't think so," said Marjorie; "but he's real pleasant looking, and I've heard her say, ever so many times, that it's polite to welcome strangers when they first come to a place, so I know she'd want us to ask him. And then Miss Lou knows him a little bit, for I saw him take off his hat to her the other day; and she can introduce him. He makes twelve. I don't believe we'd better have any more. I'd like to ask Mr.

Saunders, that keeps the fruit store down on the corner; but they say thirteen is unlucky, so perhaps twelve will do."

"All right," agreed Allie. "How are you going to ask them?"

"I shall just say, 'Mamma wishes you'd come to supper at half past five.' I won't ask them till the night before for fear somebody'd tell her; but if she goes on the early train, it will be safe enough."

"Then aren't you going to say it's a surprise party?" asked Allie, rising to go home, as she saw Mrs. Fisher coming up the street.

"No; for I'm afraid they mightn't come," said Marjorie, in a low voice.

"Now, Allie, don't you dare to breathe a word of this to anybody, not even to Howard, for I want it to be a perfect surprise. And you know you've promised to help me out in the morning."

Five days later, two flushed and grimy, but triumphant young hostesses stood gazing at the tables before them. Marjorie's plan had been carried into effect; and her guests, one and all, had gratefully accepted Mrs.

Fisher's invitation to tea, for they knew of old that her little parties were the most enjoyable ones in the camp. Even Dr. Brownlee had sent a cordial message of acceptance, for though he was surprised at the invitation, coming as it did from a stranger whom he did not even know by sight, he attributed it to the proverbial Western hospitality, and was glad of anything which could bring him into connection with the people among whom he was to live. Early that morning Mr. and Mrs. Fisher had gone away for a long, tedious day of shopping, and an hour later Allie and Marjorie had invaded the kitchen for four hours of hard work.

By noon all was in readiness, and they could pause to contemplate the result of their labors.

The table was stretched to its utmost length, and bright with snowy linen and gla.s.s and silver, while around it were gathered twelve chairs, taken from the different rooms, in order to accommodate the unusual number of guests. Here a dining-room chair stood beside one borrowed from Mrs. Fisher's bedroom; there kitchen wood and parlor upholstery were placed side by side, in striking contrast. The table itself was groaning beneath the weight of the feast, for Marjorie had been liberal in her selection from her mother's preserves; while a whole boiled ham, fresh from the bakehouse, stood before Mr. Fisher's place, and at the other end of the table his wife's chair was decked with ribbons, and confronted with a great loaf of cake, whose uneven icing bore, in red sugar, the letters "M.C.F.," traced by an inexperienced hand. This was Allie's contribution to the banquet, and Marjorie had thoughtfully surrounded it with a circle of thirty-nine tiny candles, which stood ready for the lighting. Plates of a.s.sorted cookies were scattered about the board; here lay a low dish of olives, whose dusky green contrasted well with the ruddy globe of an Edam cheese, placed beside them, and there rose a towering pyramid of golden oranges flanked on either side by a tempting pile of purple and white grapes.

"It does look pretty, doesn't it, Allie?" asked Marjorie for the fifth time.

"Yes," said Allie, as she bent forward to break a corner off from one of the cookies and tuck it into her mouth. "Yes, it is lovely. I do hope your mother will like it. But now I must hurry, or mamma will know something is going to happen."

"Go on, then; only be sure you're back here by five," Marjorie warned her. "And don't let the boys come here this afternoon, for I'm too tired to even look at them."

At half past five, the guests had a.s.sembled and were sitting in the parlor, looking a little annoyed and uncomfortable as the moments pa.s.sed by and their hostess did not appear.

"Come right in," Marjorie had said to them, one after another; "Mamma will be so glad to see you; she'll be here in a minute."

Last of all came Dr. Brownlee. He had been delayed until the last possible moment, and now, just as Mr. and Mrs. Fisher turned the corner far down the street, he rang at the door, to be admitted by Marjorie.

Once inside the parlor, he stopped and looked around the room in search of his hostess, in order to offer her a prompt apology for his seeming rudeness in being so late. To his surprise, there was no one present at all answering to the description of Mrs. Fisher which he had received from his landlady.

"Hamlet, without the ghost!" he thought to himself, as he paused irresolutely, just across the threshold, and glanced about in vain for a familiar face.

For a moment there was an awkward hush. Most of the guests knew the doctor by sight, but in the explicable absence of their hostess, no one was sufficiently at ease to rise and bid the stranger welcome to another person's house. They tried to go on with their conversation, in apparent unconsciousness of the young man who stood in the doorway, reddening under their sidelong glances; but their attempt was not crowned with success, and there came one of those seemingly interminable pauses which sometimes fall upon a room. Then, all at once, Louise Everett rose from her chair in the bay-window, where she had been hidden behind the ample shoulder of Mrs. Pennypoker, and, crossing the room, she greeted the doctor as an old acquaintance. A few words pa.s.sed between them; then she introduced him to the other guests, before leading the way back to her own cosy corner, where Mrs. Burnam sat waiting to welcome him, as the friend of her young nephew.

"Who's that going in at our house?" Mr. Fisher had asked, peering over the top of the pile of bundles in his arms. "It looks like Dr. Brownlee; but why should he be going there?"

"Oh, dear; I hope it isn't anybody coming to call," sighed his wife, with the inhospitality born of a long day of tedious, unsatisfactory shopping. But she quickened her pace, in order to discover who was the guest awaiting them.

At the door she was met by Marjorie, dressed in her best gown, and looking strangely excited.

"Let me take your things, mamma," she said in a low tone. "There's somebody to see you in the parlor."

Forcing a smile to her tired face, Mrs. Fisher advanced to the door to greet her caller. On the threshold she paused aghast, for, to her startled eyes, the room appeared to be thronged with people, who rose and stepped forward to meet her, while Marjorie stood at her side, gleefully clapping her hands and exclaiming,--

"It's a surprise party, mamma! It's a surprise party!"

For one instant, Mrs. Fisher faltered. She had come home in a state of utter exhaustion, and she longed to run away from the parlor and hide.

But the next minute her courage came back to her, in the face of her roomful of guests, and she gave them as hearty a welcome as if the party had been one of her own making. Up and down the room she went, speaking a word here, shaking a hand there, all with the tact for which her hospitality was noted. She had sent one appealing glance towards Louise, and the girl, taking in the situation in a moment, had come to her aid, with Dr. Brownlee at her side. In a short time the room was buzzing with voices, as the guests entered into the full tide of conversation.

Suddenly the dining-room door swung open, and Allie appeared on the threshold.

"Please come out to supper, now," she said shyly, as she met her mother's surprised glance.

There was another pause of uncertainty; then Mr. Everett offered his arm to Mrs. Fisher, and led the way to the table, where the guests seated themselves as they wished, gazing, meanwhile, with amused eyes at the feast before them. A short silence followed, and then the conversation started up once more, as Mr. Fisher, with one despairing glance at his wife, attacked the vast ham before him, and Mrs. Fisher began to pour out the pale, watery effusion which filled the teapot. Allie and Marjorie were already bestirring themselves to pa.s.s the plates and cups about the table; but all at once Marjorie paused abruptly, with her arm outstretched, as she gazed blankly this way and that. Then her face grew red and the sudden tears rushed to her eyes, as she hurried out of the room, with a gesture to Allie to follow her.

"What is it, Marjorie?" Allie exclaimed in alarm, as the young hostess sank down into the wood box and buried her face in her hands.

An inarticulate moan was her only answer.

"Marjorie! Marjorie!" she urged again. "Tell me what's the matter. Are you ill?"

Then Marjorie raised her head for a moment.

"I'm all right," she said, with a great sob of shame; "but what shall we do, Allie? We ate up all the bread for breakfast, and I forgot to order any more."

It was late that evening when the guests took their leave; and, as they went away down the street together, they said, over and over again, that Mrs. Fisher had never before been half so bright and witty in her talk, so quick to plan new modes of entertainment. Their hostess watched them out of sight; then, after an expressive look at her husband, she turned away from the door, and crossed the hall to Marjorie's room. All was dark within, as she opened the door and entered; but, as soon as her eyes had grown accustomed to the gloom, she went up to the bed, and laid her hand on a small, dark body, curled up on the white spread.

"Marjorie, dear," she said gently.

The childish figure was quivering with suppressed sobs; but there was no other answer.

"Marjorie," she said again; "don't feel so badly about it, my child."

The tone of motherly sympathy was too much for Marjorie's self-control, and the tears began to come, thick and fast.

"O mamma," she cried; "truly we didn't mean to. I'm so sorry."

Mrs. Fisher sat down on the side of the bed, and drew her daughter towards her.

"Don't cry so, Marjorie," she repeated. "I know you didn't mean to do anything out of the way. Tell me how you came to ask all these people here."

Between her sobs, Marjorie told her mother the whole story; and Mrs.

Fisher rejoiced that the kindly darkness hid her smile, as she listened to her little daughter's incoherent explanation of the party and its cause.

"And I meant it should all be so nice," Marjorie ended, with a fresh burst of tears; "and it was just dreadful. I forgot the bread, and the candles wouldn't burn, and n.o.body knew Dr. Brownlee, and everything was horrid. Scold me, if you want to; but I truly meant to give you a good time, only it all went wrong."

"Marjorie, dear," her mother said, when she could steady her voice enough to speak; "I know you meant to make me have a happy birthday, and I am grateful to my little girl for taking so much pains for me. Another time we will talk it over together, and plan the best thing to do, instead of your trying to surprise me. And now forget all about the worry of it, and only remember that you've done what you could to make the day pleasant for me." And she bent over for a goodnight kiss, before she returned to the kitchen for a long hour of dish-was.h.i.+ng and putting the room to rights.

CHAPTER VII.

JANEY'S PROPHECY.

"Git up in de mawnin' singin', an' de cat cotch you befo' night," Janey had said oracularly, when Allie ran out into the kitchen, that morning before breakfast, with the refrain of one of Charlie's songs upon her lips.

"What nonsense, Janey!" said Allie, laughing at the strange, old-time saying. "I don't believe the cat'll 'cotch' me any more for singing, and it's ever so much more fun than 'tis to cry."