Carney's House Party/Winona's Pony Cart

  Winona and Toodles went up to bed; and Myra came, too, and put Winona’s hair up on rags for the party. She parted and combed the long, black locks and wet them and twisted them and wound them around the rags. Then she rolled the rags up tight and tied them in knots.

  Winona looked in the mirror and howled with glee.

  “You’ll look pretty tomorrow,” Myra said. “Prayers, now.” And when prayers were over and Winona had hopped into bed, with Toodles settled at her feet, Myra kissed her goodnight. “Father’s surprise…it’s the cutest idea! I don’t know how he ever thought of it,” she said.

  “I know how he thought of it,” Winona said to herself. “He thought of it because I asked him for a pony, the night Mother addressed the party invitations.”

  She didn’t say a word out loud, though, and Myra turned out the gas and went away.

  Winona couldn’t get to sleep. She was almost sure the surprise would be a pony. And yet…she couldn’t be entirely sure.

  She felt as though she were going up and down on a see-saw.

  6

  A surprise for Mrs. Root

  WINONA WORE her hair in curls to school next day. And the Third Grade knew that her birthday had come at last. Miss Canning said, “Happy Birthday, Winona!” And all the children shouted, “Happy Birthday!”

  Whenever a girl came to school looking particularly fancy, everyone knew that something was up. Either she was giving a party or she was going to one. And in Winona’s case there was no doubt about which it was. She had talked for days about her birthday.

  Everyone knew that Betsy Ray must be going to the party, for her hair was not in its usual braids. It was curled to a friz.

  “My sister Julia put it up on rags last night,” Betsy told Winona at recess.

  “My sister Myra put mine up on rags, too,” Winona answered.

  Winona and Betsy thought it was interesting that they each had two sisters and no brothers. They talked about it often.

  Tacy’s hair looked just as usual, and so did Tib’s, for they had curls all the time. But they looked partyish, just the same; they looked so excited.

  Dennie looked excited, too. After recess he leaned out to whisper to Winona.

  “I hope there’s plenty of birthday cake.”

  Winona nodded with gusto. Selma made wonderful birthday cakes, and Mrs. Root frosted them herself, putting on little birds and bouquets of flowers, and printing “Happy Birthday” in red candies.

  It was hard that morning for Winona to keep her mind on arithmetic or geography or spelling. Her spelling was even worse than usual. Miss Canning, smiling, asked her to spell ‘birthday’ and Winona put in a u instead of an i.

  In the afternoon she couldn’t keep her eyes off the big clock on the wall. She wished she could fly up and push that minute hand ahead.

  But at last, it pointed to three.

  The Third Grade children went into the cloakroom for their jackets and caps, and then they formed lines. Someone played a march, as usual. The music always set Winona’s feet to dancing, but today she positively jigged.

  Birthday cake! Red silk dress! That surprise! Could it be a pony?

  The marching lines went out the front door and down the steep steps into a crisp bright day.

  “Ta ta! See you at my party!” Winona called to Betsy, Tacy, Tib, and Dennie, as she rushed across the school yard. They were rushing homeward, too. They had to change into their party clothes.

  Toodles, waiting on the wall, was wearing his ribbons already. His tail seemed to be curled tighter than usual in honor of her birthday.

  Inside the house there was a smell of freshly baked cake. And the dining room, when Winona peeked in, was a scene of gracious beauty. The long table was set with lace, candles, and flowers. There was a paper hat and a little tin horn at every place.

  Of course—there were only sixteen places! Winona felt that pang of worry again.

  “But it doesn’t matter,” she assured herself. “I can hold Joyce on my lap. And Lottie would just as soon as not hold Lettie. And Scundar and Marium could sort of squeeze in Marium’s little brother.”

  She rushed upstairs.

  “Be sure to wash,” her mother called. “Myra,” she added, “you’d better go and help her.”

  Bessie and Myra had hurried home from school in order to assist with the party.

  Myra helped Winona wash her face and neck and ears. She helped her put on the new dress. It was like a dress out of a dream with its short puffed sleeves, and the wide sash, and the accordion-pleated skirt—all gloriously red.

  Myra combed Winona’s curls afresh and tied a red bow on the top of her head.

  Winona rushed back downstairs and into her mother’s bedroom. That was where her presents were always waiting, under the pale green canopy of Mother’s bed. Her father was there. He had told her at breakfast that he would come home early.

  “I’ll be on hand,” he had said. “I have to be…for that surprise.”

  He and her mother and sisters watched eagerly as Winona dashed for her presents.

  There was the doll as big as a baby, jointed, with yellow hair and eyes that opened and shut. It was the doll she had asked for, the one her father had said he couldn’t afford.

  “Is this the surprise?” Winona asked.

  Her father said no.

  Beside the doll was a wardrobe full of doll clothes from her mother.

  “Some of them are your own baby clothes,” Mrs. Root said tenderly. “This doll is almost as big as you were when you were born, Winona.”

  Winona riffled through the doll clothes. “Are they the surprise?” she asked.

  Her mother said no.

  On the table beside the bed was a little printing press. It was just what Winona had wanted.

  “Is this the surprise?” she asked.

  “No, not that,” her father answered. “The surprise is coming later, Win. It isn’t a present, exactly.”

  Then it wasn’t the hand-painted ribbon box from Bessie or the copy of Black Beauty from Myra. Winona hugged and kissed her sisters and her mother and father.

  The doorbell rang.

  “Why, it isn’t half-past three yet,” Mr. Root chuckled.

  “Oh, they always come early,” Mrs. Root laughed.

  Winona flew to open the door. “It’s Dennie!” she shouted.

  Dennie looked very spruce in his blue Sunday suit with long, ribbed stockings and polished shoes. He wore a sateen blouse, striped blue and red, and a neat blue tie. His curly hair was brushed to a peak above a rosy face.

  “Happy birthday! Here’s my present,” he said, extending a package.

  It was a Noah’s Ark.

  “Watch me whirl!” cried Winona, and whirled to show him how her skirt flew out.

  “Gee!” said Dennie. “You can wear that for the circus.”

  Winona’s mother looked surprised to see Dennie. She looked very surprised. She didn’t say anything, though.

  In just a minute the doorbell rang again. This time it was Joyce, fat and jolly, her thick braid swinging. She said, “Happy Birthday!” and gave Winona a cup and saucer. Winona whirled for her, and they jumped about for joy.

  A girl from Winona’s Sunday School class came next, bringing a game of Authors. A carriage stopped outside and Percy came in.

  His blond curls were neat as usual, and he wore a velvet suit and a waist with a ruffled collar and ruffles down the front.

  “Who’s that sissy?” Dennie whispered to Winona.

  “My mother knows his mother,” Winona whispered back.

  Percy brought a bouquet of flowers in a holder.

  “My mother bought it,” he said crossly, thrusting it at Winona. He walked to the window and looked out, acting haughty. Nobody followed him.

  After that, children came in a steady stream. Each one said, “Happy Birthday!” and gave Winona a present. The presents were unwrapped and put on that table in her mother’s room where the printing press was. Soon the beautifu
l white and green room was a sea of tissue paper, and the table was crowded with cups and saucers, silk embroidered handkerchiefs, games and books, a tea set, and a ring with three pearls and twelve rubies in it.

  Lottie and Lettie brought a pair of mittens. They were red and green, with tassels.

  “Mamma knitted them herself,” Lottie said to Mrs. Root who was admiring them with a strange look on her face.

  Lottie and Lettie looked nice in their starched white dresses. They looked a little summery, but the pink and blue ribbons streamed from rosettes on their shoulders. And they wore their new white shoes.

  Winona saw her mother go out to the dining room. She picked up all the place cards and came back.

  Betsy, Tacy, and Tib arrived together, each one with a present. Tacy stayed close to Betsy at first; she was bashful at parties. And none of them had been inside Winona’s house before.

  Betsy’s party dress was brown, piped in pink. She, too, had an accordion-pleated skirt. Tacy’s dress was dark blue silk with a tucked yoke of lighter blue. Tacy usually wore blue because she had red hair. Tib’s pink wool dress was belted low; that was the newest style.

  “My Aunt Dolly sent it to me from Milwaukee,” she said, pirouetting.

  That reminded Winona to whirl, so she whirled, and Betsy whirled, too. They whirled and whirled to see whose skirt would spread out the widest.

  Winona’s mother was looking absolutely mystified.

  “Winona,” she said, “won’t you introduce me to your friends?” When she heard their names, she said faintly, “Oh, yes! I think I know your mothers.”

  Children came and came and came.

  There was one little boy, five years old, who lived down the block; Winona took care of him sometimes. He was wearing a clean sailor suit.

  Two other little boys, about his age, were wearing Indian suits. They thought it was a Halloween party!

  Winona’s father had disappeared. Her mother and sisters were whispering in a corner. Shortly her mother beckoned Winona to join them.

  “Winona,” she said, speaking gently, but with something urgent in her voice, “just how many children have you invited, dear? They’re very welcome but I have to know how many there will be, on account of the refreshments.”

  “Won’t there be enough ice cream…on my birthday?” Winona asked indignantly.

  “We don’t need to worry about the ice cream,” her mother answered. “Myra will run down to the drug store and buy more. But it’s hard to stretch a birthday cake.”

  “But Dennie especially asked about the cake! I told him we had plenty!” This was terrible.

  Before Mrs. Root had a chance to answer, the doorbell rang a last time, and in came Scundar and Marium and Faddoul. Scundar looked very handsome. He was wearing a red tie, and his black hair was plastered down with oil.

  Marium looked like a picture out of The Arabian Nights, in a purple dress, very long and full. She was wearing purple ribbons on her long, black braids, and earrings, and even more bracelets than usual. Her eyes were rimmed with something black which was very becoming.

  “Happy Birthday,” she said like everyone else. She was holding her little brother tightly by the hand.

  Faddoul was very chubby with fat red cheeks. His eyes were like ripe olives as he stared around the house. Marium nudged him, and he murmured something and gave Winona a box of candied fruit.

  Marium’s package held a handmade lace doily. It was exquisite, Bessie said.

  Scundar balanced his gift carefully on outstretched hands. He carried it over to Mrs. Root who was looking more and more amazed all the time. In fact, she was looking pale.

  “My mother hopes you will like this poor baklawa cake,” Scundar said, and bowed.

  “Cake!” cried Mrs. Root in a tone of thankfulness.

  “Cake!” cried Winona and hurried over to look. It was an odd but delicious-looking cake, crisscrossed like a checkerboard and oozing honey.

  “Oh, Mother!” cried Winona. “Now there’ll be plenty of cake!”

  “Yes,” said Mrs. Root, “thanks to this Syrian mother!”

  “Oh, the Syrians are lovely people!” cried Winona, dancing about.

  The children were all looking at her presents. Betsy was charmed by the printing press.

  “I’m going to get out a newspaper for children,” Winona said importantly.

  “Can I write stories for it?” Betsy asked.

  “I could make you a funny paper,” offered Tib. “I can draw Buster Brown and Happy Hooligan and the Katzenjammer Kids.”

  “I could peddle the papers,” chimed in Tacy. She wasn’t feeling bashful any more.

  Lottie and Lettie liked the big doll. Winona told them they could undress it and put on different clothes. So they did, while Marium watched admiringly.

  The boys were asking when the games would begin.

  Nobody asked about the pony. Perhaps, Winona thought, they had forgotten about him in the excitement of the party. Perhaps they were being polite, or perhaps they had thought all along that the pony was just a sort of game.

  But Winona didn’t forget him. She couldn’t help expecting him. After all, she hadn’t had the surprise!

  They went into the library, and she pointed out that picture she liked. It was the one an artist had painted down at her father’s office, showing a copy of the Deep Valley Sun, and a cigar, and a violin, and a mouse.

  “What do you s’pose that mouse is doing there?” Winona asked the company.

  “I could make up a story about it,” Betsy volunteered. “You could print it on your printing press.”

  “Do it now!” Winona commanded. But there wasn’t time. Her mother had started blindfolding children for Pin the Tail on the Donkey. Lottie won the cookstove, and Dennie won the bat and ball. Winona was glad about that.

  Afterward, they ran out to the lower lawn for London Bridge. After that they played Go In and Out the Window. And then Lottie and Lettie did some of their tricks. Lettie stood on Lottie’s shoulders. They were acrobats, practically.

  Little Faddoul had a good time rolling down the terrace.

  He would lie down with his arms at his sides, making a fat little bundle. And he would roll over and over, down the steep slope to the bottom, where he ended in a nest of colored leaves. Then he would get up solemnly and climb to the top of the terrace and roll down again. Toodles followed him, barking, because he liked that game.

  The little boy in the sailor suit was busy counting leaves. He could only count to ten. When he reached ten he would start all over again.

  The two little boys dressed like Indians were playing by themselves, giving war whoops and waving sticks that they pretended were tomahawks.

  Winona kept looking around for her father. Where was he? And what was the surprise?

  Her mother and Bessie and Myra seemed to be looking for him, too…or for something. They kept rushing out to the barn. Even Ole acted queer.

  He had marked out a white circle on the lower lawn with ground lime. It was big, something like a race track.

  “What game is this for, Ole?” Winona asked. But he wouldn’t answer.

  Instead, he yelled to the children to stand back.

  “Back! Back! Behind that circle,” he yelled.

  “Stand back, children!” Winona’s mother echoed, lifting her long skirts and running to and fro.

  When everyone had crowded back, Ole turned toward the barn. He opened the gate that led to the corral where he exercised Florence and Bob. He opened it wide, and Winona’s father came out, smiling.

  “Winona!” he called. “Here is your surprise!”

  7

  A Surprise for Winona

  WINONA STOOD staring at the gate of the corral. Something funny was happening inside of her. Something had swelled up and was pushing into her throat. She wanted to cry, but she wouldn’t, of course. Not any more than she had when Buffalo Bill kissed her.

  She knew that a pony would come through the gate, and he did.
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  First she heard a jingling of little bells, then the beat of tiny hoofs. Then the pony trotted out, hitched to a pony cart. It was a small wicker cart with red wheels and two seats, set back to back.

  The man who held the reins wasn’t sitting in the cart. He was running along beside the pony, laughing.

  “Giddap, Jingle! Giddap, Jingle!” he was calling in a laughing voice. He was a thin young man with reddish hair, and he was wearing a green velvet jacket.

  Winona looked at him and at the cart because she could hardly bear to look at the pony. It made her too glad.

  At last, she stole a fearful glance.

  He was a stocky shaggy little pony. He was black, but his bushy forelock, mane, and tail were white. Later Winona was to discover that he had a little chocolate on one ear and a little vanilla on the other; that was a joke she made up.

  Now she noticed chiefly that his ears stood up jauntily and his eyes were large and bright. His tail was lifted gaily as though he enjoyed coming to a party.

  “Giddap, Jingle!” the young man kept crying.

  Jingle! Winona looked toward Betsy, Tacy, and Tib. They needn’t have bothered trying so hard to think of a name for her pony. He had brought his own name—Jingle, like his little jingling bells.

  Jingle came straight to Winona and stopped. The young man smiled and put the reins into her hands.

  “Jingle, at your service, miss!” he said, touching his cap.

  Winona couldn’t speak.

  Her father came up. He looked pleased with himself.

  “Wasn’t this a nice surprise?” he asked. “I thought you might like to have a pony come to your party and give the children rides.”

  “Father!” cried Winona. She dashed into his arms and rubbed her eyes on the sleeve of his coat so that no one would see they were wet.

  “Who will you choose to take for the first ride?” her mother asked. She was smiling, too. Her mother didn’t mind after all, Winona thought, because her father had given her a pony!

  There was no doubt about whom she would choose.

  “Joyce!” she called, and Joyce ran over, her butter-colored braid swinging proudly.