CHAPTER VIII

BESS GIVES A PARTY

Christmas came. Betsy and Elizabeth presented their gifts to Miss Jewett upon the last day of school before the holidays began. Miss Jewett’s desk showed a great stack of gifts, the most showy being a sofa pillow from Corinne Barker and the most appreciated being those which Elizabeth and Betsy had made themselves. Elizabeth spent much thought upon the composition of a proper set of verses to go with the scent bag, and finally produced the following:

I gathered from our garden beds These simple herbs for you, For they are sweet and you are sweet, I’m telling what is true.

I fain would be dried as they If I might dwell within Your handkerchiefs and laces gay You fasten with a pin.

Whene’er you ope your bureau drawer And smell this bag I send, I pray you think of one who signs Herself, your loving friend. Herbs are not pollens. Elizabeth Hollins.

There were tears in Miss Jewett’s eyes as well as laughter on her lips when she read this effusion. “The dear, ridiculous child,” she murmured, “she is so preciously funny.”

It had taken Elizabeth a long time to find anything to rhyme with Hollins and she felt very triumphant when she discovered the word pollen, though plural it has none. Elizabeth, however, never let a little thing of that kind appall her and often took such poetic license as would have amazed a greater poet. She did not show her rhymes to anyone, not even to Betsy, for she had a romantic feeling that the more secret the more tender. She wrote the verses, in her best manner, on the back of a Christmas card showing an angel with a violin. She had commissioned her brother Dick to get this for her. To his credit be it told, that he took much trouble and only after searching long and faithfully did he find what she wanted and sent it to her. To say that Elizabeth was pleased only half expresses it. Her letter of thanks to Dick was characteristic. She said:

DEAR DICK,--I am abnormally obliged to you for taking the trouble to send me the enchanting card. It is exactly what I wanted and is memoriably lovely. What it is to have a brother!

I remain, my dear sir, Yours gratefully, ELIZABETH.

Dick had a good laugh over the letter and put it away among those he treasured. “It will amuse her some day when she has grown up,” he told himself.

Miss Jewett was trying to help Elizabeth in her use of words but there had not been time as yet to show much result from her teaching. On the day that school closed for the holidays Bess announced importantly that she was going to give a party on New Year’s night. She had not returned to her allegiance but showed both Betsy and Elizabeth that she vastly preferred Corinne to either of them. They, therefore, wondered if an invitation to this festivity would be given them.

“It would be dreadful to be left out,” declared Elizabeth as she and Betsy were talking it over. “It would be almost a disgrace, for she will invite nearly everybody in the school, except the very little children, of course.”

“She won’t have a very big party if she is going to invite only those who are friends with Corinne,” returned Betsy caustically. “We’ve known her all our lives and our families are friends and all that.”

“I suppose it will be as her mother and grandmother say, anyhow,”--Elizabeth took some comfort in this.

“And I’d like to see Mrs. Lynde offend my aunt Emily; she wouldn’t do it, for they are very intimate friends. I shall tell her about the party right away and of course she will expect that I am to go.”

So much for Betsy’s prospects. Elizabeth was not so sure of her own. Bess had painted her plans in vivid colors, her ambition being to give such an affair as should be equal to those described by Corinne. Musicians discoursing sweet strains of music behind a screen of palms, a supper ordered from a caterer in the city, party dresses made to order for the occasion, sounded very grand to little girls used only to very simple affairs. “I suppose If I do go,” said Elizabeth, “I couldn’t have a real party dress; I would just have to wear my best white.”

“I suppose I should, too. Aunt Emily doesn’t approve of little girls like us having real dressy clothes.”

“I heard Bess say that her dress was to be blue chiffon over blue silk with tiny pink rosebuds on it. Won’t it be beautiful?”

“Oh, I suppose so,” returned Betsy carelessly. “I reckon she will enjoy it more than anyone else. If you wear white, Elizabeth, I will wear it, too, so we can keep each other company. We will not be the only ones, either, for I don’t suppose half the girls will have really truly party dresses.”

“Have you heard what Corinne is going to wear?” asked Elizabeth.

“White lace over pink, I believe; at least that is what Flo Harris told me.”

This promised to be very fine attire, thought Elizabeth, yet she was comforted by what Betsy had said--that not half the girls would have real party dresses and would go in whatever might be the most appropriate thing they had.

The next day saw Corinne and Bess driving around town in a pony-cart delivering the invitations. Corinne had spoken her mind when they first started forth. “If you are going to invite that red-headed Elizabeth Hollins you can count me out,” she said.

“Oh, but Corinne, I have to,” replied Bess. “Grandmother and mamma made out the list and her name was one of the first. I really have nothing to do with it, you see.”

“We’ll manage some way,” declared Corinne. “Just you leave it to me. She lives so far out that we will have to leave it till the last, anyway, and I doubt if we get through in time to go there, so we can take it to the post-office.”

“Oh, but,--” began Bess, slightly disturbed, yet not exactly seeing how mailing an invitation would prevent its reaching its destination.

“Now see here,” continued Corinne, “which would you rather would come to the party, Elizabeth or I?”

Bess remembered the lace-over-pink frock which would add glory to her entertainment and promptly replied: “You, of course.”

“Then if you want me you can’t have her. I’m not going to see her sailing around and being made so much of. What do you suppose she will wear, Bess?”

“Oh, I suppose she wouldn’t get a new dress for the occasion. She will wear her best white, I suppose.”

“Humph!” Corinne gave a scornful exclamation. “Now listen. We will go to the post-office with her invitation; when we get inside you hand her invitation to me and I’ll do the rest. You can say you took it yourself to the post-office, can’t you? That will be the strict truth; you don’t have to know what happens after that.”

Bess had an idea of what would happen and felt very reluctant to hand over the invitation to Corinne, so she was silent.

“Aren’t you going to do it?” asked Corinne. “I suppose you will like her going around telling everybody that you are too fat to look well in your lovely new frock.”

This was rather a back-handed way of putting it, but Bess did not perceive that; she only saw that the glory of her attire might be undervalued; and so she gave in, at the same time feeling conscience-stricken and more unhappy as time went on. At the post-office she gave the envelope into Corinne’s hands, turned her back and asked no questions. “Now then,” said Corinne as they came out, “if anyone asks you all you have to say is that you took the invitation to the post-office yourself, and it will be perfectly true.”

Betsy promptly reported to her first best that she had received her invitation, that her aunt Emily said she was to go and could wear her white mull. “Which of your white frocks are you going to wear, Elizabeth?” she asked.

“I don’t suppose I shall wear any of them,” returned Elizabeth, in a subdued voice. “I haven’t been invited.”

“Oh, Elizabeth, I don’t believe it. I saw Corinne and Bess driving old Fan around in the pony-cart yesterday. Perhaps they didn’t have time to come out here and you will get yours today.”

This was an encouraging possibility; but as day after day went by and no invitation came Elizabeth was fain to believe that she had been left out.

“I’m just going to ask,” said Betsy indignantly. “I don’t see how they dared not ask you. I am going to ask Mrs. Lynde myself why you weren’t invited.”

“Oh, no, please don’t, Betsy. I wouldn’t for the world have them think I cared.” Elizabeth had pride in the matter.

“Well, I shall find out some way.” Betsy was determined. “If you don’t go I shall stay away, and if aunt Emily asks me why, I am going to up and tell her.”

This was loyalty beyond expectation. To deliberately absent one’s self from a party such as this promised to be showed great strength of mind, thought Elizabeth. “I don’t want you to do that,” she said. “I want you to go and then tell me all about it. I didn’t really think that Bess was keeping on being so very very mad with me,” she added.

“I don’t believe it is Bess at all; I believe it is all that horrid Corinne Barker.”

“But she didn’t make out the list. I heard Bess say, myself, that her grandmother and mother were doing it.”

“You never know,” returned Betsy.

But as the days passed by there was no solution of the mystery. Christmas came and went and the fact of having no party in anticipation did not in the least interfere with Elizabeth’s enjoyment of the day. Darling Miss Jewett had given her a beautiful copy of “Little Women” and had added a photograph of herself in a pretty frame. As Elizabeth had heretofore depended upon borrowing from Betsy when she wanted to read anything of Miss Alcott’s, this first contribution towards a set of the much-prized books gave intense delight. As for the photograph, it was kissed rapturously and at the first opportunity Elizabeth hastened off to the giver to express her thanks.

After greetings and thanks were over Miss Jewett said: “And now I suppose the next excitement is the party Bess is going to give.”

Elizabeth’s face fell. “I suppose it will be very exciting to those who are going,” she answered sadly.

“Why, but surely you are going. Is there any reason why you should not?” asked Miss Jewett. She did not know what cause might keep Elizabeth at home, although she knew Mrs. Hollins was not liable to deprive her little daughter of this pleasure without good reason.

“There is a very good reason,” Elizabeth told her: “I am not invited.”

“Oh, but Elizabeth, there must be some mistake. I saw the list myself, and I can vouch for your name being on it. I am sure I saw it. Neither Mrs. Lynde nor Mrs. Ferguson would be so unkind as to leave you out. There must be some mistake.”

“I don’t believe there is,” said Elizabeth, “for Bess and Corinne took around the invitations themselves, and Bess would know. She couldn’t forget me even if she isn’t friends any more.”

“Aren’t you friends? I didn’t know it was as bad as that.”

“I’m friends, but Bess isn’t,” said Elizabeth. “She hasn’t been since she became such chums with Corinne.”

Miss Jewett was thoughtful for a moment, then she repeated: “There must be some mistake. I still think so. I wouldn’t feel badly, Elizabeth, until we really discover what is the matter.”

It was not till two days before the date of the party that Miss Jewett had an opportunity of asking any questions. She spent part of her holidays with her own family and did not return until the morning of the thirtieth. On the train she met Mrs. Ferguson who had been to the city to make some necessary purchases for the entertainment, and the two chatted together until they reached Brookdale.

In discussing the different girls Mrs. Ferguson spoke of Elizabeth in such a manner as to lead Miss Jewett to believe that she was expected to be one of the guests.

“Bess is very particular that we should consider this a most formal affair,” said Mrs. Ferguson, “and is quite put out when any of those invited fail to write a note of acceptance; but I tell her it is too much to expect all that from the little girls who do not know grown-up ways, and she must take it for granted that all will come whether they say so or not.”

“Who are those who have failed to be so formal as Bess requires?” asked Miss Jewett.

“Elizabeth Hollins, for one, but she and Bess have always been so intimate that there is no need for her to write. Bess has not mentioned her case, but did become quite miffed because Flo Harris only called across the street: ‘I’m coming, Bess.’ ‘That isn’t the way young ladies in the city would do,’ Bess said to me.”

“I think I can tell you why Elizabeth has not answered,” returned Miss Jewett; “she never received her invitation. I know her well enough to be sure that nothing would please her so much as to write a most formal and highly-flown note, and besides she told me herself on Christmas Day that she was not going to the party because she had not been invited.”

“Dear me,” returned Mrs. Ferguson; “that is most unfortunate. I would not hurt the dear child’s feelings for the world. I must see to the matter as soon as I get home.”

She lost no time in doing this but put the question to Bess almost as soon as she reached home. “Bess,” she said, “I have just heard that Elizabeth Hollins failed to get her invitation to your party. You must go out there this very afternoon and tell her, or, better still, I will write an invitation in proper form so she will not feel slighted. I don’t see how it happened that she did not get one. I am sure that she was not overlooked, for I looked over the envelopes myself before I put them in the basket.”

“Did you give it to Elizabeth herself?” asked Mrs. Lynde.

“No, grandmamma,” Bess replied. “I took it to the post-office. It was so late when we got through that Corinne said we’d better take it to the post-office.”

“As long as that was the furthest point you had to go you should have gone there first,” said Mrs. Lynde, “and have left the places nearer home till the last. It is too bad, but evidently it has gone astray.”

Bess said never a word though she was really relieved that Elizabeth would have her invitation after all. She would not say a word to Corinne about it, and when she came to the party and found Elizabeth there she would surely not go away.

But it happened that it was not Bess who took the invitation for she was in demand by the dressmaker that afternoon and could not be spared, so Mrs. Ferguson hastily wrote a note and ran in to see if Betsy would be so good as to take it with the invitation to Elizabeth. Would Betsy refuse? Of course not. She went on wings of joy and burst in upon Elizabeth in great excitement. “It’s here, it’s here,” she cried. “It was a mistake, after all. They did send it and you didn’t get it. Read the note.” She thrust the envelopes into Elizabeth’s hand and stood by panting from the haste with which she had come.

Elizabeth was not long in understanding the contents of the note. “Joy! Joy!” she cried. “Mother, Kath, it’s come! It was a mistake after all. I can go! I can go!”

“What in the world is this all about?” asked Kathie, coming in from the next room, followed by her mother.

“The party,” answered Elizabeth. “I can go, for they did send me an invitation and I never got it at all. Oh, I am so glad. Shall I wear my white dress or my organdy?”

“We will look them over and see,” promised her mother.

“We’d better be quick about it then; there is only one more day in case there is anything to be done to make a dress ready,” said Kathie. And Elizabeth flew to the attic to bring down her summer store of frocks.