Aunt Madge's Story Part 5

I trudged home at noon, with my eyes looking strange, I know. I had done my _speaking_, and now I began to _think_. It came over me like a little whirlwind. I realized for the first time what I had done.

Ruth was hurrying up the dinner.

"Don't come near me, child," said she. "I've got _my_ hands full."

I went into the sitting-room. There was mother on the sofa, bathing her head with cologne. It didn't seem much like having a party! She could eat no dinner, and father said she looked as if she ought to be in bed.

"I feel almost sick enough to be in bed," said she; "but I must help Mrs. Duffy put down that parlor carpet. I have waited for her ever since the carpet was made, and this was the very first day she could come."

"O, dear," thought I, "where'll I have my party?"

"Can't Mrs. Duffy put the carpet down alone?" asked father.

"No; she would skew it badly."

"But, my dear, you are sick; why not have Ruth help her?"

"Ruth does not understand the business as well as I do; and more than that, we have a large quant.i.ty of raspberries to be made into jelly.

They would spoil if they were kept over Sunday."

Worse and worse! Who was going to get supper for my party?

Then I remembered that wonderful _something_ which Lize Jane had promised to bring in the covered dish,--that delicious mystery which had been the first cause of getting me into trouble. Perhaps there would be enough of it to go round, and we could finish off with cake.

I began to think it wasn't much matter what we had to eat.

While life lasts I shall never forget that horrible afternoon. What could I say? What could I do? I felt as Horace used to, as if I should "go a-flyin'." I ran into the parlor where mother and Mrs.

Duffy were putting down the carpet, and hopped about till I got a tack in my foot; and after mother had drawn it out, and I had done crying, I ventured to say,--

"Mamma, there's a little girl coming to see me this afternoon. Are you willing?"

"This afternoon? Who?"

She might have asked who wasn't coming, and I could have answered better.

I thought a minute, and then said, "Fel," for I knew she liked her best of all the little folks.

"Very well," said mother, and went on stretching the carpet.

Fel came so often that it was hardly worth mentioning.

"But, mamma, there's somebody else coming, too. It's--it's--Dunie Foster."

Dunie was a lady-child, almost as well-behaved as Fel.

"Ah! I'd rather have her come some other time. But run away, dear, you are troubling me. Take the little girls into the dining-room. I want the sitting-room kept nice for callers."

I couldn't get my mouth open to say another word. Three o'clock was the usual hour for little girls to go to parties, and I flew into the kitchen to ask Ruth what time it was.

"Two o'clock," she said.

"And in an hour would it be three? How many minutes was an hour? Did that jelly boil fast enough? Did jelly bake all hard in the little gla.s.s cups so you could eat it the same day--the same night for supper? Was there any cooked chicken in the house, with breastings in (stuffing)? Any sandiges? Why didn't Ruthie make sandiges? Do it very easy. Why didn't Ruthie make sailor-boy doughnuts? _I_ could sprinkle the sugar on 'em, see 'f I couldn't."

In the midst of my troublesome chatter Abner came around to the kitchen door with the horse and wagon, saying he was going to mill, and would Tot like to go, too?

"Will you be back by three o'clock?" said I.

"Yes; it won't take me half an hour."

"I wonder what's the child's notion of watching the clock so snug,"

remarked Ruth, as I was darting into the parlor to ask if I might go to mill.

As I rode along with Abner, and felt the soft summer air blow on my face, and saw the friendly trees nodding "Good day," it seemed as if I had left trouble behind me. What was the use in going back to it? I had half a mind to run away.

"I didn't want to stay and see those little girls starve to death. No place but the 'dine-room' and the barn to play in! Be tied to the bed-post for it too! Ought to be! Wicked-bad-girl! But would mamma tie me any _shorter_ if I staid away till the moon came up? And then the girls 'd be gone! Get away from Abner just 's easy! He'll be a talkin'

to the man 'th flour on his coat, then he'll look round an' I'll be gone, an' he'll say, 'That child's _persest_'; he always says '_persest_,' and then he'll go home and forget."

But stop a minute; what would the girls think?

"They'll think me very _unagreeable_ to go off and leave my party.

They'll call me a little lie-girl; they wont ask me to their house no more."

So I didn't run away. I sat in the wagon, groaning softly to myself.

The way of the transgressor _is_ hard. _Every_ way was hard to me since I had set out to do wrong. It was hard to run off and be called "unagreeable," and very, very hard to go home and face my troubles.

I had not supposed there was the least danger of any one's coming before three o'clock; but to my surprise, when we reached the house, I found the front entry full of small girls--the little specks in A B C.

There they stood, some of them with fingers in their mouths, while mother held the parlor-door open, and was asking them very kindly what they wanted. "Margaret," said she, "these little girls have been here as much as ten minutes; I don't know yet what they came for; perhaps you can find out."

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE PARTY. Page 78.]

Poor, sick mother was holding her head with her hand as she spoke. I hated myself so that I wanted to scream.

"Hattie," stammered I, taking one of the tiny ones by the hand, "come out in the garden, and I'll get you some pretty posies." Of course the rest followed like a flock of sheep. But we had hardly reached the garden before I saw three or four more girls coming. It was of no use; something must be done at once. I left the A B C girls staring at the garden gate, and ran to the house for dear life.

"Mamma, mamma!" cried I, as soon as I could get my breath; and then I rolled myself up into a little ball of anguish on the parlor carpet.

"Where's the camfire?" exclaimed Mrs. Duffy, springing up; "that child's really a fainting off." Mother came to me and took my hands; she says I was so pale that it quite startled her. "Where do you feel sick, dear?" she asked tenderly.

That sympathetic tone broke me down entirely. My stubborn pride yielded at once, and so did that bitter feeling I had been cheris.h.i.+ng so long in regard to the parasol.

"O, mamma!" sobbed I, catching the skirt of her dress and hiding my head in it, and forgetting all about Mrs. Duffy; "I don't care what you do, mamma. You may send 'em home, and tell 'em they didn't be invited; you may go to the front door and say it this minute."

"It's gone till her head," said Mrs. Duffy, laying down the hammer; "see her shuvver! She nades hot wather till her fate, poor thing."

"I don't care what you do to me, mamma; you may tie me to the bed-post, and sew me up in a bag and throw me in the river. You would, if you knew what I've been a doin'. I--I--_I've got a party_!"

Mother held her hand to her head and stared at me. Just then the door-bell rang.

"That's some of the party," wailed I. "And those little bits of girls were some, and this is some now, and more's a comin'. I'm _so_ glad you didn't give me no pairsol, mamma."