IX AN INDEPENDENCE DAY RECEPTION
Toward the latter part of June the McGuire family migrated to Dennistonfor the summer. The beautiful country place, on the outskirts of thelittle town of Greenborough, was looking its prettiest as they arrivedone lovely afternoon and took possession.
"In some ways I'm glad to be back here," said Betty, as they sat on theveranda after supper, "and in some ways I'm not."
"That's the way with 'most everything," commented Jack, philosophically;"there are always some good sides and some bad sides to whatever we do. Ilove Denniston, but there's more to do in Boston."
"And more people," said Betty.
"Yes," agreed Jack; "I've always noticed there _are_ more people in alarge city than in a small village."
Betty threw a hammock pillow at him, and went on: "I mean more peoplethat I like to be with. I shall miss Dorothy and Jeanette awfully downhere."
"You might invite them to visit you," suggested her mother.
"I would; but it's rather dull here. There's nothing special for them todo, you see; they usually go to watering-places in the summer, and Idoubt if they'd want to come here."
"Oh, pshaw, Betty!" said Jack. "They'd like to come, just to see you. AndDenniston Hall is a lovely place. A flock of girls ought to be able tomake fun for themselves here."
"That's so," said Betty; "anyhow, I'll ask them, and if they don't wantto come, they can decline. I'll ask Constance too, and perhaps Lena--thatis, if you are willing, Mother."
"Do," said her mother. "Make it a little house-party. With picnics anddrives you can make it pleasant for them, I'm sure."
Just then Agnes Graham and her brother Stub came strolling up thedriveway, and heartily welcomed the Denniston people back to their summerhome.
"You're just in time," said Agnes, as the young people grouped themselvesin the wicker chairs on the veranda or in the swinging settee; "have youheard about the Library Benefit?"
"No," said Betty; "what is it?"
"Oh, somebody's going to give a whole lot of money for a town library, ifthe town will raise another whole lot of money itself. And so everybodyin Greenborough is planning to do something to help. And we thought, thatis, we hoped, you'd join with the Dorcas Club, and help us."
"I'd like to," said Betty, "but tell me more about it."
"Well, the truth is, Betty, the girls of the Dorcas Club haven't reallymade any definite plans, and they want you to suggest something--onlythey're afraid to ask you."
"Afraid to ask me!" exclaimed Betty. "Why?"
"Oh, they think you're so haughty and stuck-up since you've lived inBoston that they're afraid you won't want to work with us."
"Agnes Graham, you ought to be ashamed of yourself! Have you ever knownme to act a bit haughty?"
"No, I haven't. But the other girls don't know you as well as I do, andthey say that."
"Pooh! May Fordham and Tilly Fenn know me quite as well as you do; dothey say I'm haughty?"
"No, May and Tilly don't--at least, I've never heard them."
"Well, who does, then? You may as well tell me."
"Oh, let's drop the subject!" said Stub, who hated a fuss. "What do yougirls want to gossip for?"
"Betty's right," put in Jack; "if people say she's haughty, when she_isn't_, she ought to know who says it."
"Oh, it's nobody in particular," said Agnes, alarmed at the excitementshe had caused. "If you're nice to them, Betty, they'll stop saying it."
"If she's nice to them!" exclaimed Jack, indignantly. "Betty's alwaysnice to everybody, Agnes Graham!"
"I can stand up for myself," said Betty, laughing at Jack's emphaticspeech. "Go on, Agnes, and tell me what they want me to do."
"Well, what they want is for you to let them have a sort of agarden-party here at Denniston, and charge admission, you know, and letall the club take part."
Betty considered.
"I had thought of having a garden-party myself," she said; "a sort ofhome-coming to Denniston, you know. I don't see why we couldn't combinethe two, and so make some money for your Library Fund."
"Oh, that would be fine!" said Agnes. "That's what they want,--to havethe affair here, you know,--but they thought you wouldn't be willing."
"And I won't be willing unless you tell me who it is that says thingsabout me."
"No, I won't do that, Betty; it isn't fair."
"Well, perhaps it isn't. Never mind; I shall soon find it out for myself.Now let's plan the garden-party. When shall we have it?"
"Let's have it on Fourth of July," suggested Jack. "Then we can combinepatriotism and charity and fun and everything."
Mrs. McGuire approved the plan, and agreed to help in any way she could.
So the very next day Betty went to a meeting of the Dorcas Club, and wasmade a member of it. The girls all seemed glad to welcome Betty, and weredelighted at the prospect of a garden-party at Denniston on the Fourth ofJuly. The club was a good-sized one, numbering about thirty girls in all,and they at once began to appoint committees, and so divide the work tobe done.
"We'll have everything red, white, and blue," said May Fordham, "andflags everywhere. Oh, it will be beautiful!"
Susie Hale was president of the club, and it was only a short time beforeBetty discovered that it was Susie who was not entirely in sympathy withthe plan proposed. Betty was amused rather than annoyed at Susie'sattitude, for of course Susie had no real reason to dislike Betty, or toconsider her proud or haughty.
It was really a sort of envy or jealousy that Susie felt, and this seemedto manifest itself in sly innuendoes or mean little acts, for which thereis always opportunity in a girls' club.
At the second meeting Betty was made chairman of the general committee,and as this was practically giving her entire charge of the whole affair,it made Susie's position as president of the club a secondary office.
However, as the Fete was to be held at Betty's home, it was only rightthat she should be the principal in the management of it, and most of thegirls were quite content to have it so.
Betty had invited four girls from Boston, and Dorothy, Jeanette,Constance, and Lena arrived a few days before the Fourth, quite ready totake part in the festivities.
The Van Courts, too, who were one of the principal families ofGreenborough, had agreed to lend all the assistance they could, and sothe garden-party bade fair to be a great success. It was called an"Independence Day Reception," and the tickets were prettily printed inred and blue on white cards, and had tiny flags in the corner. They readthus:
COLUMBIA AND UNCLE SAM AT HOME AT DENNISTON HALL JULY FOURTH AT THREE O'CLOCK
Remembering Constance's disappointment in not being able to take her partat the school commencement, Betty resolved to make it up to her on thisoccasion.
So, though the club girls insisted that Betty herself should take thepart of Columbia, she positively refused to do so, and proposed thatConstance Harper should personate the Goddess of Liberty.
This arrangement suited Susie Hale, who didn't want Betty to have theadmiration and applause that would, of course, be given to Columbia ashostess of the entertainment.
Mr. Richard Van Court consented to take the part of Uncle Sam, and thusthe principal figures were arranged.
The girls of the club were to wear whatever costumes they chose.
A grand march was to be made first, in which different countries were tobe represented.
Betty chose Ireland, and had a lovely green costume made for theoccasion. The boys of Greenborough were invited to participate also, andthe characters of John Bull, a French marquis, a Spanish troubadour, aSwiss peasant, an Italian, a Chinaman, and other nationalities werechosen by some of the boys and girls. Others were to be in attendance atthe various booths, or to act as waiters in the refreshment tent.
When the Fourth of July arrived,
all of the Denniston household wereastir at daybreak, for there was much to be done that could not be doneuntil the day of the fair.
By midday, however, the place was nearly ready. Pat had worked steadily,and so had all the other servants, as well as the family and the guests.The beautiful grounds of Denniston were gay with decorations.
Flags waved everywhere; bunting was draped, and Japanese lanterns swungfrom every available point. Big white transparencies, which would beilluminated in the evening, bore the national dates, or announced thegoods for sale at the various booths.
The house, too, was decked with flags and lanterns, and the spaciousveranda was filled with chairs, where guests might linger to listen tothe music.
The band-stand was near by, and a fine orchestra had been engaged to playpatriotic airs.
Booths were all about the grounds.
The largest was the main refreshment tent, where dainty little tableswere set forth, with Japanese paper table-cloths and napkins all bearingour own national emblems.
The waitresses here were thirteen girls who represented the thirteenoriginal States. They wore white dresses and tricolor sashes and caps,with the name of their States in gilt letters. Another booth held allsorts of small articles for sale--fancy-work, from sofa-pillows toneedle-books, all made of red, white, and blue silks; photograph framesmade of silk flags; dolls dressed in red, white, and blue; scrap-booksmade of linen of the same colors, and filled with patriotic pictures andverses. Even such prosaic things as dusters and sweeping-caps were of thethree colors and found a ready sale.
Another booth had flags, fire-works, and Fourth of July badges for sale.The lemonade, in accordance with time-honored tradition, was served by"Rebecca at the Well." The well had been prettily built by a carpenter inimitation of "The Old Oaken Bucket," and as Rebecca wore the Americancolors, the dramatic unities were somewhat lost, but nobody minded, asthe lemonade was ice-cold and very good. An Indian wigwam was a gayfeature. Jack had this in charge, and had superintended the building ofit himself.
A tribe of ferocious-looking Indian braves, much befeathered and painted,sold Indian curios, baskets, and beads.
The tennis-courts, bowling-alleys, and croquet-grounds were in order, andpatrons could indulge in these games by payment of a small fee.
Inside the house, too, entertainment was provided.
Various indoor games were offered, and there was also a reading-room,with magazines and books for all. In another room was shown an "HistoricLoan Collection." Many of the residents of Greenborough had relics ofRevolutionary days, which they loaned for this occasion. As there weremany really interesting and valuable specimens, the visitors were quitewilling to pay the extra fee required to see them, and the room waswell-filled with patrons much of the time. Opposite this room, in anotherroom, was a "Burlesque Loan Collection," and this attracted quite as muchattention.
Stub Graham had this in charge, and he deserved credit for the clever andhumorous jokes he devised.
Catalogues had been prepared, and as an inducement to buy them, a largeplacard outside the door announced that each purchaser of a cataloguewould receive, free of charge, a steel-engraving of George Washington.When these premiums proved to be two-cent postage-stamps, and canceledones at that, much merriment ensued.
Among the so-called Revolutionary relics were such jests as these:
"Early Home of George Washington," represented by an old-fashionedcradle.
"Vision of Washington's Old Age:" a pair of spectacles.
"Washington's Reflections" was a small portrait of Washington arranged sothat it was reflected in a triplicate mirror.
"The Most Brilliant Lights of the Washington Era" were a few lightedcandles. "The Lone Picket" was a single fence-picket. "The Tax on Tea"showed a few carpet-tacks on some tea.
"A Little Indian" was a small portion of Indian meal.
"An Old-Time Fancy Ball" was a child's gay-colored worsted ball, muchtorn.
"Washington at One Hundred Years of Age" was a bird's-eye map of the cityof Washington.
"Away down on the Suwanee River" was a map of Georgia showing plainly theSuwanee River, on which was pasted a tiny bit of down.
"The Last of the Army" was simply the letter Y.
"A Member of Washington's Cabinet" was an old brass handle from amahogany cabinet.
These and many other such quips made up an exhibition that amused peoplequite as much as the display of real relics edified them.
The preparation of all these features meant a great deal of hard work,but it was the sort of work made light by many hands, and so it wasenjoyed by all who engaged in it.
And so, by midday on the Fourth of July, everything was in readiness, andthe willing workers went to their homes, to return later, ready to reapthe results of their labors.
The grand march was to take place at three o'clock, and Columbia andUncle Sam were to review it from their stand on the veranda. This was tobe followed by the singing of the "Star-Spangled Banner," accompanied bythe orchestra.
It had been arranged that Betty should sing the verses as a solo, andthat all the others, and indeed all the audience, should join in thechorus. Betty had not cared specially about singing, but hadgood-naturedly agreed to do so when the music committee asked her to.
Her voice had improved by reason of her singing lessons in Boston, andafter practising the national anthem with her mother, she felt that shecould manage its high notes successfully.
It seemed a little incongruous for a girl in a green costume and carryingthe harp of Erin to sing the American song, but Betty was of New Englandparentage as well as Irish, and she was glad to show her doublepatriotism. Constance was greatly pleased at her role of Columbia, andher costume was beautiful. Very becoming, as well, was the striped redand white skirt, and the blue bodice spangled with stars. A liberty-cap,and a large well-made shield on which to lean, added to the picturesqueeffect.
Mr. Dick Van Court was a humorous figure in his "Uncle Sam" suit. Helooked just as the Uncle Sam of the cartoons always looks, and as he wasa tall, thin young man, the character suited him well. A white beaver hatand the long, sparse locks of hair and white goatee were all in evidence,so that Mr. Dick's costume was pronounced a success by all the visitors.
About two o'clock Betty went to her room to dress. She had been busyevery minute of the day, had scarcely taken time to eat her luncheon, butnow everything was in readiness, and she had only to dress and take herplace in the grand march at three o'clock.
Slipping on a kimono, she threw herself down on a couch for a moment'srest before dressing. It was perhaps half an hour later when Constancepresented herself at the door of Betty's room, ready for inspection ofher pretty costume.
"May I come in?" she called, as she tapped at Betty's closed door.
Getting no reply, she tapped again, but after two or three unansweredcalls she concluded Betty had gone down-stairs, and so she went downherself.
She didn't see Betty, but Mr. Van Court was there, in the full glory ofhis "regimentals," and the two, as it was not quite time to take theirposition, strolled about the veranda, looking out upon the grounds.
"It's just like fairy-land," said Constance, "and to-night, when thelanterns are lighted, it will be still more so. Oh, here comes the band."
The orchestra, in resplendent uniforms, took their places on theband-stand, and began their preliminary tuning of instruments.
Then the girls and boys began to arrive, and each costume was greetedwith admiring applause.
"Where's Betty?" said Dorothy, as she came down, dressed as a dear littleSwiss peasant.
"I don't know," answered Constance; "she must be out in the groundssomewhere. She wasn't in her room when I came down."
"Well, it's time she appeared," said Dorothy. "It's ten minutes of threenow."
"Where's Betty?" said Jack, as, wrapped in his Indian blanket, he camesuddenly up to the girls, looking somewhat worried.
"I don't know," they replied at the same time. "She
must be aroundsomewhere."
"Maybe she is," said Jack, "but she isn't dressed for the grand marchyet. I've just been to her room, and her green dress is all spread out onthe bed, and she's nowhere to be found. Mother doesn't know where sheis."
"Why, how strange!" said Constance. "Betty's never late, and it was abouttwo when we both went up-stairs to dress. Where can she be?"
There didn't seem any real reason for alarm, but it was certainly strangethat Betty should disappear so mysteriously. As Constance said, Betty wasnever late. She was always ready at the appointed time, and it seemed asif something must have happened to her.
"I can't find Betty anywhere," said Mrs. McGuire, as she joined thedisturbed-looking group. "It's so strange, for I know she had nothingmore to attend to. She stopped at my door about two o'clock, and saideverything was ready and she was going to dress."
It was beginning to look serious now, and Dorothy went back to Betty'sroom to make search.
As Jack had said, her pretty green dress was spread out in readiness. Thelittle green slippers stood near by, and the green cap and gilt harp layon the couch. Surely Betty had not begun to dress. She must have beencalled away by some one suddenly. Her kimono was flung across a chair asif hurriedly thrown there, and Dorothy looked in the dress-cupboard tosee what Betty might be wearing. But there were many suits and dresseshanging there, and Dorothy couldn't tell which, if any, pretty summercostume was missing. It was very mysterious, and she went slowlydown-stairs again, wondering what they should do.
"She's been kidnapped," Mrs. McGuire was saying; "I've always feared it!"
"Nonsense!" said Mrs. Van Court, an elderly lady, who was Mr. Dick'smother. "Of course she hasn't been kidnapped. I think she has fallen inthe pond."
Jack laughed at this.
"Oh, no, Mrs. Van Court," he said; "Betty is too big a girl to tumbleinto the water. I think some one on some committee wanted her to lookafter some booth or something, and she's about the place somewhere."
"That's all very well," said Dick Van Court, "but if I know Betty, she'dattend to the matter and be back in time for the march at three o'clock."
"It's after three now," said Dorothy. "Whatever can we do?"
Nobody knew just what to do. It didn't seem possible that anythingunfortunate had occurred, and yet what else could be keeping Betty away,wherever she was?
Meanwhile what had become of Betty?
Well, it was just this:
While she was in her own room, just about to dress in her green suit, anote was brought to her by one of the servants.
The note read thus:
"Deer Bety: Susie isent going to the Forth a July Party atall. She's mad at you.
"Jennie Hale."
Jennie Hale was Susie's younger sister, and Betty saw at once that shehad written this note without Susie's knowledge.
But for Susie, the president of the club, to stay away from thegarden-party would be a catastrophe indeed! Betty would be censured formaking trouble, and Susie's friends would say all sorts of things. It washard on Betty. She had truly tried to make friends with Susie, andthought she had overcome the girl's silly jealousy. What especial thingSusie was "mad at" now, Betty didn't know. But she must find out, andmake peace, if possible, before time for the garden-party to begin.
She looked at her watch. It was a quarter past two. If she went rightover to Susie's she might fix it up, and get back in time to dress.
She flung off her kimono, and quickly donned a linen suit, selecting theone she could get into most easily.
Then she ran down-stairs, and, without a hat or gloves, jumped into thepony-cart, to which Dixie had been harnessed all day, in case of errands,and drove rapidly down the road toward Susie's.
It happened that no one noticed her going, but Betty did not think ofthis, so engrossed was she in the matter in hand.
She dashed up to Susie's door and rang the bell. Mrs. Hale herself openedthe door, and from the cold, hard expression on her face, Betty felt thatshe was unwelcome.
"I've come to see Susie, Mrs. Hale," she said pleasantly. "Isn't sheready for the party?"
"No, she isn't!" snapped Mrs. Hale. "She isn't going to your old party,so you can sing the solos yourself."
Then Betty understood. Susie had wanted to sing the solos! Bettyremembered now that Susie was the soprano of the village choir, and sheprobably resented Betty's being asked to sing the solos instead ofherself.
"Oh, my gracious!" exclaimed Betty, annoyed at this foolishness, and yetrelieved that it could still be set right, "she can sing the solos, ofcourse! I'd much rather she would! Tell her so, won't you, and ask her tohurry and come."
Mrs. Hale looked mollified, but she said:
"She can't come now. She's gone to her grandma's to spend the afternoon."
"Oh, dear! what a goose she is! Why couldn't she tell me sooner what shewanted? Where is her grandmother's?"
Betty was looking at her watch and getting back into the cart, andgathering up the lines, preparatory to going after the truant.
"It's pretty late," said Mrs. Hale, glancing at the clock. "She'll haveto come back here to dress, you know."
"Never mind that!" said Betty, a little impatiently, for she was upsetover it all. "Where is her grandmother's?"
"Oh, out on the Pine Hill road. The third house after you pass the mill."
Betty groaned, for the place designated was a good two miles away, andDixie was somewhat tired. But she touched him gently with the whip, andsaid:
"Dear old Dixie, you'll help me out, won't you?" And then they wentspinning away toward the Pine Hill road.
Susie, from the window, saw Betty coming, and went out to meet her.
She didn't look very pleasant, but Betty had no time to waste in coaxingjust then.
"Susie Hale," she said, "get right in this cart. Never mind your hat;just get in this very minute!"
Susie was fairly frightened at Betty's tones, and though she wasunwilling, she couldn't help doing as she was told.
Silent and a little bewildered, she climbed in beside Betty, and turningquickly, they were soon flying back over the road Betty had come.
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," Betty began, for she was of nomind to spare Susie's feelings now. "You, the president of the club, tocut up such a childish caper! You can sing the solos, of course; I don'tcare a mite! But you should have told me you wanted to sing them, in thefirst place."
"Who told you I wanted to?" said Susie, weakly, now thoroughly ashamed ofherself.
"Your mother did, and I'm glad she did, for I never should have guessedwhat foolish thing was the matter with you. I don't think anybody thatwould act like you have is fit to be president of a club!"
Betty's righteous indignation seemed to show Susie the despicableness ofher own conduct, and she began to cry.
"I'm sorry," she said; "truly I am. Can you ever forgive me?"
"I can," said Betty, "if you'll do just as I tell you. First, stopcrying. Second, jump out of this cart when we get to your house, and getinto your costume like lightning! Third, come over to Denniston and takeyour place in the march and sing the solos, and act pleasantly and nicelyabout it. I'll drive home after I leave you, and I'll send the cart backfor you. And you must be ready! Do you hear? You _must_ be _ready_!"
Betty spoke almost savagely, and Susie still looked scared, as she said:"I don't want to sing your solos now."
"But you will sing them," said Betty. "You must sing them, and do yourvery best, too. You sing as well as I do, and to do as I tell you is theonly way you can make up for the trouble you've stirred up. Now, here youare at home. Fly and dress. Don't waste a minute. The cart will be backfor you in a quarter of an hour!"
Susie sprang out of the cart and ran into the house, and Betty droverapidly away to Denniston. As she tore up the driveway among thedecorated booths and lantern-hung trees, the funny side of it struck her,and smiling broadly, she reached the veranda, wh
ere a bewildered groupawaited her.
"Where _have_ you been?" cried Constance. "What's the matter?"
"I've been on an errand of mercy," said Betty, smiling still; "andnothing's the matter. The grand march must be delayed a little, but I'llbe ready in a jiffy. Come on, Dorothy, and help me dress. Pat, pleasetake Dixie and go over to Mrs. Hale's and bring Miss Susie back withyou."
And so the grand march was delayed only about half an hour. Susie arrivedduly, and sang the solos very prettily. Afterward, when the whole storycame out, much indignation was expressed that Betty should have been sobothered, but Betty herself didn't mind, for it had the result of makingSusie her staunch friend forever after.