Chapter XV The Lost Invitation
A heartache when the heart is young,
Seems quite too big to bear;
But when it ends in laughter,
Away goes every care.
When they started to return the next day, Beth in triumph mounted Ninkum. She had a little difficulty in turning around to wave a farewell to dear grandmother on the porch, because the pony took this opportune time to munch the grass at the road-side, and Beth nearly went over his head.
“Dear me, Ninkum, you are very rude,” she said, much vexed. “You try to spill me off, besides making Grandmother Van Stark feel as though you didn’t have enough to eat while you were visiting her!”
There was another disturbing feature also, and that was sister, whose countenance kept peering above the phaeton top, and who shouted exceedingly unwelcome advice, until silenced and firmly seated by the maternal command.
However, these were small things, compared with the bliss of galloping down the smooth road, bordered by flowers and green fields.
“I am very fond of wild flowers,” said Ethelwyn by and by, “because they come right from God’s garden, and they keep things so cheerful and bright out in the country.”
“I remember some verses about wild flowers and woods that a friend of mine wrote,” said mother, “and I intend sometime to put some of them to music.”
“O say one, mother,” said Ethelwyn, who loved verses. So Mrs. Rayburn began:
“I know a quiet place,
Where a spring comes gurgling out,
And the shadowed leaves like lace
Fall on the ground about.
“A tempting grapevine swing
Is swung from the near-by trees,
And life is a dreamful thing
Lulled by the birds and bees.
“Flowers at the great trees’ feet
Are sheltered quite from harm;
For above the blossoms sweet,
The oak holds forth his arm.
“Perhaps if I lie quite still,
I may hear far down below,
The first and joyous thrill
Of things, when they start to grow.”
“I’ve wondered if they do get out of the seed with a little cracky pop,” said Ethelwyn.
“What, sister?” asked Beth, coming up on Ninkum.
“Flowers and things.”
“I’ve wondered how things know how to make themselves flowers, and not potatoes, or something like that,” said Beth; “but I suppose God tells them.”
“And I’ve often thought what was it that makes part of them stalk and leaves, and then all at once end in a flower,” said Ethelwyn. Then, after a moment’s silence, she proposed, “Let’s have another game.”
“Yes, mother, you think of one.”
“I was thinking of one this morning,” said mother, “for I thought likely you would be asking me to make up one, though it isn’t my turn.”
“O, but motherdy, you are so much smarter than we are!” said Ethelwyn.
“That is one way to get out of it,” said mother, laughing. “Well, I will tell you a story, and leave a blank occasionally, which you must fill up with the name of a tree.
“There were two little girls who dressed exactly alike, and, as they were very near the same age, it was difficult to tell which was the—”
“Elder?” said Ethelwyn, after a hard think.
“Yes.”
“I didn’t really know there was such a tree, but I had heard something like it, and thought there wasn’t a younger tree.”
“One of the little girls was named Louise and the other Minerva, and people grew to calling them by their initials, which together made—”
“Elm,” said Beth.
“They were very good children, and people used to say what a nice—”
“Pear,” they both said at once.
“They were. They had cheeks like a—”
“Peach.”
“It was spring, and they were invited to a sugaring off party, and they saw the men tap the trees to make—”
“Maple sugar,” cried Beth, who knew that, if she knew anything.
“So, when they went home, they tapped a tree in the front yard, and invited a party to come and eat maple sugar; but they tapped the wrong tree, and their father was vexed, saying, ‘I ought to take a —— to ——’”
But mother had to tell them these words for they had never heard of birch, or of yew. “‘I wonder if you will be ——’”
“Evergreen,” said Ethelwyn, after a little prompting.
“‘All your life.’ ‘I thought,’ said one, ‘that maple sugar parties were very ——’”
“‘Pop’lar? (mother had to tell them this also), ’at this time of year.’”
“—— laughed their father.”
“Haw, haw,” said Ethelwyn, who had been thinking of the tree under which they played at home.
“‘I’ll have to take you to the seashore to play on the ——’”
“Beech,” said Beth in triumph.
“Then he lighted a cigar and knocked off the ——”
“Ash,” said Ethelwyn.
“And walked down street, whistling a song from ‘Mikado.’ Tit ——”
“Willow,” they both cried at once, for they knew that song as well as the tree.
“You have done well,” said mother, “but you each have two fines to pay, and it really is your turn next time; so you must remember to think up a game. But here we are at home, and there is ‘Vada coming out to meet us.”
“O, ‘Vada, what has happened since we went away?” said Ethelwyn, climbing out.
“Mista Bobby gwine to give a party this ebenin’; it’s his birthday, and his uncle brought him some fiah works like those you all had las’ yeah,” said ‘Vada.
“O goody! did he invite us?”
“Nome, not to say invite. But he’s been in to see if you all was expected home.”
“O, it won’t matter,” said Beth easily; “we’ll go anyway. Of course he knew we would come.”
When Nan came over, she brought her invitation with her. It was very formally enclosed in a small envelope, and informed his friend that Bobby would be at home on that very evening.
This struck Beth as very silly.
“Of course he’ll be at home if he’s going to give a party! Just as though he’d be anywhere else!” she remarked.
They wished to go over immediately and tell Bobby that they were home and all ready to be invited, but their mother would not allow this.
“He will come over by and by,” she said. But the day went by and no invitation came, although great preparations were going on, as they could see, for they kept very near the window that looked out on Bobby’s lawn. A slow drizzling rain was falling, or they would probably have been much nearer. But Bobby was evidently very busy getting ready. They caught only flying glimpses of him, and their hearts grew heavy within their breasts.
“O dear! I shall never, never get over this, never!” said Beth, swallowing the lump in her throat.
“I wouldn’t have thought Bobby could have done it,” said Ethelwyn, also swallowing.
After their bath, they begged for their best slippers, silk stockings, and embroidered petticoats, and on having their hair done in their dress-up-and-go-away-from-home style. “Because,” said Ethelwyn, “something may happen yet to make him think of us.”
So mother let them have on what they liked, for she was very sorry for them.
In the evening, after dinner, when the electric lights came flashing out, it was worse, because, still standing forlornly by the window, they saw the orchestra come, with their instruments, and presently the sounds of music came floating up to them. Then the ice cream man came, and Beth, who had almost melted to tears at the sight of the orchestra, shed them openly when the ice cream went around the side of the house. Having no handkerchief, she wiped her eyes on Soosana, her big rag doll. She always loved Soosana when she was unhappy, for she was so squeezy and felt so comfortable.
“I hope Bobby will be sorry when he has time to think about it,” she remarked in a subdued tone.
“Look at that!” said Ethelwyn in such a hopeful voice that Beth at once emerged from her eclipse behind Soosana, and looked with all her eyes.
There was Bobby, resplendent in a new suit and slippers with shining buckles, running across the lawn.
Ethelwyn and Beth at once pushed up the window, in order to meet him half-way.
“Do you want us, Bobby?” called Beth encouragingly.
“Yes; why on earth don’t you come?” cried Bobby. “We are all ready to dance and Nan and everybody but you, are there, and I wouldn’t let ’em begin till you came, so hurry up.”
“We will,” they cried in a breath, “and we would have come a long time ago if you only hadn’t forgotten to invite us till so late. What made you, Bobby?”
“Why I didn’t!” said Bobby in a surprised tone. “I took your invitation over to your front door and—and—your bell is pretty high up—”
“Yes, I can’t reach it at all,” said Beth breathlessly; “go on.”
“So I shoved it under the door—”
Ethelwyn disappeared like a flash, and, sure enough, under the carpet’s edge she could see sticking out the little white corner of the envelope. She knelt down and pulled it out, then ran back.
“We’ll come right over in a minute, Bobby,” she called happily. “We’re pretty nearly all dressed for fear you’d remember you had forgotten—”
“All right, hurry up,” called up Bobby.
Down on the floor went Soosana, all damp with tears, but she still smiled broadly at the ceiling in the dark. She probably did not, if the truth were known, quite enjoy being used as a handkerchief, but she felt it was her mission in this life to act as comforter, and so she bore it with cheerfulness. The next morning she was told by happy, though sleepy, Beth that it was a “beyewtiful party, with fireworks, and ice cream, and dancing, and games, and souvenirs. I should never have been so happy again, Soosana, if I had missed going, I know,” she concluded, kissing Soosana with such fervor, that she put a dent in that portion of her doll’s head where she had been kissed; but this time Soosana was sure she did not care.