TWO GIRLS--TWO PARTIES.
A great bustle and confusion had reigned the whole week long in the oldhouse at the top of the hilly street, known to the neighborhood as "theSquire's." All the slip-covers had been taken from the furniture in thebest parlor. All the company china had been lifted off its top shelf andwashed. All the spare lamps had been filled, all the rooms swept anddusted, all the drawers in the bureaus freshly arranged, for--as Millysaid to herself--"who knew but some one might take a fancy to peep in?"
Milly Grace, the Squire's daughter, had sat for hours in a cold woodshedtying up wreaths of ground-pine and hemlock with fingers which grew morechilly every hour. These wreaths now ornamented the parlor, festooningcurtains, chimney-piece, and door-frames, and making green edges to thefamily portraits, which were two in number, neither of them by Copleyor Stuart, as was plain to the most casual observation.
One of these portraits represented the Squire's father in ashort-waisted, square-tailed blue coat, and a canary-colored waistcoat.His forefinger was inserted in a calf-bound volume of Blackstone, andhis eyes were fixed with a fine judicial directness upon the cupola ofthe court-house seen through a window in the background. The other washis wife, in a sad-colored gown and muslin tucker, with a countenancewhich suggested nothing except saleratus and the renunciation of allhuman joys.
The Squire did not care much for this picture. It made him feel badly,he said, just the feeling he used to have when he was a boy and was sentevery Sunday by this orthodox parent to study the longer answers of theShorter Catechism on the third step of the garret-stairs, with ordersnot to stir from that position till he had them perfectly committed tomemory. It was this strict bringing-up, perhaps, which made him soindulgent to Milly,--a great deal too indulgent her step-mother thought.
In the buttery stood a goodly row of cakes little and big, loaves whoseicings shone like snow-crust on a sunny day, little cakes with plumsand little cakes without plums; all sorts of cakes. On the swingingshelf of the cellar were moulds of jelly clear and firm. In thewoodhouse stood three freezers of ice-cream, "packed" and ready to turnout. Elsewhere were dishes of scalloped oysters ready for the oven, eachwith its little edging of crimped crackers, platters of chicken-salad,forms of blanc-mange, bowls of yellow custard topped withraspberry-and-egg like sunset-tinted avalanches, all that goes to thedelectation of a country party: for a party there was to be, as afterthis enumeration I need hardly state. It was Milly's party, and allthese elaborate preparations were her own work,--the work of a girl ofnineteen, with no larger allowance of hands, feet, and spinal-vertebraethan all girls have, and no larger allowance of hours to her day; butwith a much greater share of zeal, energy, and what the Squire called"go" than most young women of her age can boast of.
She it was who had pounded away at the tough sacks full of ice and salttill they were ready for the freezers. She it was who had beaten theinnumerable eggs for the sponge cakes, pound cakes, fruit cakes, "one,two, three, four," jelly, nut and other cakes, who had swept the rooms,washed the china, rearranged, changed, brightened everything. Like mostother families on Croydon Hill, the Graces kept but one "help," a stoutwoman, who could wash, iron, and scrub with the best, and grapplesuccessfully enough with the simple daily _menu_, but who for finerpurposes was as "unhandy" as a gorilla. All the embellishments, all thedelicate cookeries, fell to the share of the ladies of the household,which meant Milly as a general thing, and in this case particularly, forthe party was hers, and she felt bound to take the burden of it on herown shoulders as far as possible, especially as her step-mother did notquite approve, and considered that the Squire had done a foolish thingin giving consent. "Milly should have her way for once," the Squire hadannounced.
So Milly had her way, and had borne herself bravely and brightly throughthe fatigues of preparation. But somehow when things were almost ready,when the table was set, lacking only the last touches, and the firelighted, a heavy sense of discouragement fell upon her. It was thenatural reaction after long overwork, but she was too inexperienced tounderstand it. She only knew that suddenly the thing she had wished forseemed undesirable and worth nothing, and that she felt perfectlymiserable, and "didn't care what became of her." She laid her tired headon the little table by which she was sitting, and, without in the leastintending it, began to cry.
Mrs. Grace was lying down, the Squire was out; there was no one to noteher distress or sympathize with it excepting Teakettle, the black cat.He was sorry for Milly after his cat-fashion, rubbed his velvet headagainst her dress for a little while as if wishing to console her, butwhen she took no notice, he walked away and sat down in front of thedoor, waiting till some one should open it and let him through. Catssoon weary of the role of comforter, and escape to pleasanterthings,--sunshine, bird-shadows on the grass, light-hearted people whowill play with them and make no appeal to their sympathies.
Milly's tears did her no good. She was too physically worn out to findrelief in them. They only deepened her sense of discouragement. Theclock struck six; she roused herself wearily and went upstairs todress. There were still the lamps to light and last things to do.
"And no one to do them but me," thought poor Milly. "Oh dear, howdreadfully my feet ache! How glad I shall be when they all go away and Ican go to bed!"
This was indeed a sad state of mind to be in on the eve of along-anticipated pleasure!
Everything looked bright and orderly and attractive when the guestsarrived a little after half-past seven. The fire snapped and the candlesshone; a feeling of hospitable warmth was in the air. Milly'sarrangements, except so far as they regarded her own well-being, hadbeen judicious and happy. The pretty girls in their short-sleeved blueand crimson merinos, with roses and geranium-leaves in their hair (Ineed not say that this was at a far-back and old-fashioned date), lookedevery whit as charming as the girls of to-day in their more elaboratecostumes.
Cousin Mary Kendal, who, for all her grown-up sons and daughters likedfun as much as any girl among them, had volunteered to play for thedancing, and the spirit with which she dashed at once into "The CaspianWaltz" and "Corn Rigs are Bonny" was enough to set a church steeple tocapering.
Everybody seemed in a fair way to have a delightful evening except oneperson. That one was poor Milly, usually the merriest in every party,but now dull, spiritless, and inert. She did not even look pretty! Colorand sparkle, the chief elements of beauty in her face, were, for themoment, completely quenched. She was wan and jaded, there were darkrings under her eyes, and an utter absence of spring to her movements,usually so quick and buoyant. She sat down whenever she had the chance,she was silent unless she must speak; half-unconsciously she kept awatch of the clock and was saying to herself, "Only two hours more and Ican go to bed." Her fatigued looks and lack of pleasure were a constantdamper to the animation of the rest. Every one noticed, and wonderedwhat could be the matter; but only Janet Norcross dared to ask.
"Have you got a headache?" she whispered; but the "No" which shereceived by way of answer sounded so cross that she did not venture onfurther inquiries.
"Why won't you dance with me?" urged Will Benham; "you said you wouldwhen we were talking about the party after the Lecture--don't youremember?"
"I'd rather the others had the chance--it's my party, you know," repliedMilly.
"But they _are_ having a chance. Everybody is dancing but you. Come,Milly."
"Oh, Will, don't tease," cried Milly irritably. "I never saw such anevening. Do please to leave me alone and go and ask some of the others."
Weariness sharpened her voice. Till the words were out of her lips shehad no idea that she was going to speak so petulantly to Will. Itsounded dreadfully even to herself.
"Oh, certainly," said Will with freezing dignity. He crossed the room,and presently Milly saw him take Helen Jones out to the set of Lancersjust forming. He did not look at Milly again, or come near her, and thesense of his displeasure was just the one drop too much. Milly feltherself choke, a hot rush of tears blinded her eyes, sh
e turned, andbeing fortunately near the door, got out of it and upstairs withoutsuffering her face to be seen.
Janet found her half an hour later lying prone across the bed, andsobbing as if her heart would break.
"What _is_ the matter?" she cried in alarm. "Are you ill, dear Milly?has anything dreadful happened? I came up to look for you. Will Benhamgot worried because you were away so long, and came to me to ask whathad become of you. I told him I guessed you were taking out theice-creams, but Katy said you hadn't been in the kitchen at all, so Icame up here. What is the matter--do tell me?"
"Oh, nothing is the matter at all, except that I am a perfect idiot, andso tired that I wish I were dead," said Milly. "It was awfully good ofWill to care, for I spoke so crossly to him. You can't think. It washorrid of me, but somehow I felt so dreadfully tired that the wordsseemed to jump out of my mouth against my will. Dear Janet--and I wascross to you, too," added Milly penitently. "Everything has gone wrongwith me to-night. Oh, and there is that horrible ice-cream! I must goand get it out of the freezers. But my back aches so, Janet, and thesoles of my feet burn like fire."
"You poor thing, you are just tired out," said her friend. "No wonder.You must have worked like a horse to make everything so nice and prettyas it is. Don't worry about the ice-cream. Just tell me what dishes toput it in, and I'll see to it. It won't take five minutes. But do rouseyourself now, and keep up a little while longer. The others will wonderso if you don't go down. You _must_ go down, you know. Here is a wettowel for your eyes, and I'll smooth your hair."
Even so small a lift as having the ice-cream taken out for her was arelief, and Janet's kindness, and the sense that Will was not hopelesslyalienated by her misconduct, helped Milly to recover her equilibrium.Soothed and comforted she went downstairs, and got through the rest ofthe evening tolerably well.
But when the last good-night had been said, and the last sleigh-bell hadjingled away from the door, she found herself too tired to rest. Allnight long she tossed restlessly on her hot pillows, while visions ofpounding ice and stirring cake, of Will's anger, and Janet's surprisewhen she found her in tears, whirled through her thoughts. When morningcame she was so "poorly" that the doctor was sent for.
"Too much party, no doubt," was his inward commentary when he receivedthe summons; and his first words to Milly were, "Well, Missy, so you aredown with fruit cake and mottoes, are you?"
"Oh, Doctor, no, I never ate a mouthful of the cake. I only made it,"was poor Milly's disclaimer.
"That sounds serious," said the doctor. But when he had felt her pulsehe looked graver.
"You've done a good deal too much of something, that is evident," hesaid. "I shall have to keep you in bed awhile to pay you for it."
Milly was forced to submit. She stayed in bed for a whole week and thegreater part of another, missing thereby two candy-pulls on which herheart was set, and the best sleighing frolic of the season. Everybodywas kind about coming to see her, and sending her flowers and nicethings, and Janet, in particular, spent whole hours with her every day.
"The whole thing seems such a dreadful pity," Milly said one day. Shewas really better now, able to sit up, and equal to a calm discussion ofher woes. "I had looked forward so much to my party, and I wanted tohave it as nice as could be, and I worked so hard; and then, when thetime came, I didn't enjoy it a bit. If I could only have it over againnow when I am all rested and fresh, I should have as good a time asanybody. Doesn't it seem a pity, Janet?"
"Yes, it does," replied Janet, after which she fell into a littlemusing-fit.
"One can't have company without taking some trouble," she said at last."But I wonder if one need take so much?"
"I don't see what else I could have done," said Milly. "You must givepeople nice things when they come to see you, and somebody has got tomake them. And besides that, there is so much to see to about thehouse,--dusting, and washing china, and making the rooms nice."
"I know," went on Janet reflectively. "Mrs. Beers half killed herself, Iremember, when she had that quilting two years ago, in giving the wholehouse a thorough house-cleaning beforehand. She said as like as notsomebody would want to run up into the garret-chamber after something,and she should have a fit if it wasn't in order. And after all, not asoul went anywhere except to the parlor and dining-room, and into Mrs.Beers's bedroom to take off their things; so the fuss was all thrownaway, and Mrs. Beers had inflammation of the lungs afterward, and almostdied."
"I recollect. But then they might have gone to the attic--she couldn'ttell. It was natural that Mrs. Beers should think of it."
"Well, and suppose they had, and that there had been a trifle of dust onthe top of some old trunk, what difference would it have made? Peoplewho are busy enjoying themselves don't stop to notice every littlething. I am going to think the thing over, Milly. It's all wrongsomehow."
Janet herself was meditating a party. Her father had given permission,and Aunt Esther, who managed the housekeeping, was only too glad to fallin with any plan which pleased Janet. Judge Norcross was the richest manon the Hill. There was no reason why Janet's entertainment should notout-shine Milly's. In fact, she had felt a little ambitious to have itdo so, and had made certain plans in her private mind all of whichinvolved labor and trouble; but now she hesitated.
"If I'm going to be as tired out as Milly was, and not enjoy it, what'sthe use of having a party at all?" she said to herself. "I'd _like_ tohave it as nice as hers; but whatever I have, I have got to do it allmyself. I'm not as strong as Milly, I know, and it has half killed_her_; perhaps it would quite kill me. A party isn't worth that!"
She discussed the matter within herself, reasonably. She _could_ windherself up and make eight kinds of cake if she liked. There were therecipes and the materials and she knew how; moreover, Aunt Esther wouldhelp her. She could have as much jelly and syllabub and blanc-mange asMilly, she could turn the house upside down if she desired, and trim andbeautify and adorn. It was a temptation. No girl likes to be outdone,least of all by her intimate friend. "But is it worth while?" Janetqueried. And I think she proved herself possessed of a very "level head"when, at last, she decided that it was not.
"I'll be sensible for once," she told herself. "A party is not a duty,it is a pleasure. If I get so tired that I spoil my own pleasure, Ispoil my company's too, for they will be sure to find it out just asthey did at Milly's. I couldn't half enjoy anything that night, becauseshe looked so miserable; and I won't run the risk of having the samething happen at our house. I'll just do what is necessary, and leave offthe extras."
The "necessary," when Janet came to analyze it, proved to be quite asmuch as she was able to undertake; for, as she had admitted to herself,she was not nearly so strong as Milly Grace. It meant an ample supply oftwo sorts of cake, freshly made and delicate, with plenty of ice-cream,salad, scalloped oysters, and rolls. There was extra china to wash, thetable to set, and the rooms to dust and arrange, and Janet was quitetired enough before it was done. She sent to Boston for some preservedginger to take the place of the jelly which she didn't make, she made noattempt at evergreen wreaths, and she wisely concluded that rooms intheir usual state of cleanliness would pass muster with young peopleintent on dancing and amusement, that no one would find time to peepinto holes and corners, and that the house could wait to have its"thorough cleaning" administered gradually after the occasion was over.
There was really a great deal of steady good sense in holding to thisview of the matter, and Janet found her reward in the end. Thepreparations, even thus simplified, taxed her strength; the extratouches which she had omitted would have been just the "straw too much."She gave herself a good margin for rest on the afternoon preceding theparty, and when she came downstairs in her pretty dress of pale bluecashmere and swan's-down, ready to meet her guests, her cheeks and eyeswere as bright as usual, and her spirits were ready for the exhilarationof excitement.
The tone of any gathering depends in great measure on its hostess. Ifshe is depressed or under the weathe
r, her visitors are pretty sure tocatch her mood and be affected by it. Janet's sunny looks and gay laughsset the key-note of her party. Nobody missed the wine jelly or the sixabsent sorts of cake, no one wasted a thought on the evergreen wreaths.All was fun and merriment, and nothing seemed wanting to the occasion.
"What a good time we _have_ had!" said Helen Jones to Alice Ware as theystood at the door of the dressing-room waiting for their escorts. "It'sbeen ever so much jollier than it was at Milly's, and I can't thinkwhy. That was a beautiful party, but somehow people seemed to feeldull." Helen had no idea of being overheard, but as it happened Millywas nearer to her than she thought.
"I'll tell you why it was, Helen," she said, coming forward frankly."Don't look so shocked. I know you didn't mean me to hear, but indeed Idon't mind a bit. And it's quite true besides. Janet's party has been agreat deal nicer, and it's because I was such a goose about mine. I dida great deal too much and got dreadfully tired, so tired that I couldn'tenjoy it, and you all found it out of course, so you couldn't enjoy iteither. I'm sure I don't wonder, but it was all my own fault. Janet tookwarning by my experience and made her party easier, and you see how niceit has been. We have all had a beautiful time, and so has she.Well--I've learned a lesson by it. Next time I give a party I shall justdo what I can to make it pleasant for you all, and not what I can't, andI hope it will turn out better for everybody concerned."