The Dean children came in during the afternoon to exchange notes and tell a grand secret. Their aunt and two cousins were coming from Baltimore. Bessy was quite a big girl, fourteen, and Ada was ten. Their mother had said they might have a real party of boys and girls, not just a little tea party and playing with dolls; but real plays with forfeits.

"You know I've just studied with all my might and main, and mother said if I had all my lessons and a good record that I could have the thing I wanted most, if it didn't cost too very much. And I said I wanted a real party."

"It will be just splendid!" declared Hanny.

"And we've been counting up. We have seven cousins to ask. And the girls at school--some of them. I wish we knew some more boys. Oh, do you think Jim would come?"

"I'll ask him if you would like."

"Oh, just coax him. I suppose Benny Frank will feel that he's too old.

But he's so nice. Oh, do you s'pose John Robert Charles' mother would let him come? Oh, there! I promised to call him Charles, but I think Robert's prettier, don't you? And mother said she'd write the invitations on note-paper. And she has some lovely little envelopes."

That did look like a party.

"I think John Robert Charles is real nice," said Hanny timidly. "But I am afraid of his mother."

"Oh, so is he, awful! Yet she isn't real ugly to him, only cross, and so dreadful particular. She makes him go out and wipe his feet twice, and wear that queer long cloak when it rains, and that red woollen tippet.

She bought red because it was healthy; he said so. He wanted blue-and-gray. She lets him come over to our house sometimes, and he can sing just splendid. But the boys do make fun of him."

Poor John Robert Charles often thought his life was a burden on account of his name and his mother's great virtue of cleanliness. He was not allowed to play with the boys. Ball and marbles and hopscotch were tabooed. He could walk up and down and do errands, and that with going to school was surely enough. Then she exaggerated him. His white collars were always broader; if trousers were a little wide, his were regular sailor's. She bought his Sunday suit to grow into, so by the second winter it just fitted him. His every-day clothes she made. And oh, she cut his hair!

It is very hard to be the daughter of such a mother, a rigid, uncompromising woman with no sense of the fitness of things, of harmony or beauty, or indulgence in little fancies that are so much to a child.

Quite as hard to be the son. Charles had everything needful to keep him warm, in good health, and books for study. When it rained hard he had six cents to ride in the omnibus. And he did have the cleanest house, and the cleanest clothes, and, his mother thought, a very nice time.

Luckily there were no boys this end of the block. They were quite grown up, or little children. But there were enough below to torment the poor lad. In the summer when the charcoal man went by they would sing out:

"John Robert Charles, what did you have for breakfast?" and the refrain would be, "Charcoal."

"What did you have for dinner?" "Charcoal."

"How do you keep so clean?" "Charcoal."

Early this autumn the boy had made a protest. Day after day he said it over to himself until he thought he had sufficient courage.

"Mother, why don't you call me just Charles, as my father does?"

His mother's surprise almost withered him. "Because," when she had found her breath, "John is after _my_ father, who was an excellent man, and Robert was for the only brother I ever had, and Charles for your grandfather Reed. If you grow up as good as any of them you'll have no occasion to find fault with your name."

Yet boys at school called him Bob, and he really did enjoy it. He went to a very nice, select school where there were only twenty boys.

He had made quite an acquaintance with the Dean girls. He could play house, and they had such delightful books to read.

"And the party must be some time next week. Thursday, mother thought, would be convenient. I should give the invitations out on Monday," Josie said. "And, oh, try to coax Jim."

The cousins came. Hanny saw them on Sunday, and on Monday two little girls went round with a pretty basket and left pale-green missives at the houses of friends. There was one for Ben also.

"H-m-m," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Jim. "A baby party. Will they play with dolls?"

"Oh, Jim! it's going to be a real party with refreshments. Of course there won't be dolls."

"Washington pie and round hearts."

The tears rushed to Hanny's eyes.

"Never mind about him," said Ben, "I'll go. I'll be your beau. And see here, Hanny, it's polite to answer an invitation. Now you write yours and I'll write mine, and I'll leave them at the door."

Hanny smiled and went up-stairs for her box of paper.

Jim gave a whistle and marched off; but when he saw the pretty Baltimore cousin, he reconsidered, though he was afraid Lily Ludlow would laugh at him when she heard of it.

Margaret dressed the little girl in her pretty blue cashmere, and she felt very nice with her two brothers. Most of the children were ten and twelve, but the two cousins were older. Bessie Ritter was quite used to parties and took the lead, though the children were rather shy at first.

They played "Stage-coach," to begin with. When the driver, who stood in the middle of the room, said, "Pa.s.sengers change for Boston," every one had to get up and run to another seat, and of course there was one who could not find a seat, and he or she had to be driver. That broke up the stiffness. Then they had "Cross Questions," where you answered for your neighbor, and he answered for you, and you were always forgetting and had to pay a forfeit. Of course they had to be redeemed.

Charles Reed came, though his mother couldn't decide until the last moment. He looked very nice, too. He had to sing a song, and really, he did it in a manly fashion.

But the little girl thought "Oats, peas, beans," the prettiest of all.

It nearly foreshadowed kindergarten songs. The children stood in a ring with one in the middle, and as they moved slowly around, sang:

"Oats, peas, beans, and barley grows, 'Tis you nor I nor n.o.body knows How oats, peas, beans, and barley grows.

Thus the farmer sows his seeds, Thus he stands and takes his ease, Stamps his foot and claps his hands And turns around to view his lands; A-waiting for a partner, A-waiting for a partner, So open the ring and take one in, And kiss her when you get her in."

The children had acted it all, sowing the seed, taking his ease, stamping, clapping hands, and whirling around. They looked very pretty doing it. Bessy Ritter had asked Ben to stand in first and he had obligingly consented. Of course he chose her. Then the children sang again:

"Now you're married you must obey, You must be true to all you say, You must be kind, you must be good, And keep your wife in kindling-wood.

The oats are gathered in the barn, The best produce upon the farm, Gold and silver must be paid, And on the lips a kiss is laid."

The two took their places in the ring, and Jim next sacrificed himself for the evening's good and chose another of Josie's cousins. Then John Robert Charles manfully took his place and chose Josie Dean. So they went on until nearly all had been chosen. Then Mrs. Dean asked them out to have some refreshments. They were all very merry indeed. Mr. Dean sang some amusing songs afterward, and they all joined in several school songs.

"I've just been happy through and through," admitted Charles. "I wish I could give a party. You should come and plan everything," he whispered to Josie.

It was time to go home then. There was a Babel of talk as the little girls were finding their wraps, mingled with pleasant outbursts of laughter. Mr. Dean was to take some of the small people home, and Jim obligingly offered his escort. It had not been so _very_ babyish.

Ben wrapped his little sister up "head and ears," and ran home with her.

How the stars sparkled!

"It's been just splendid!" she said to her mother. "Don't you think I might have a party some time, and Ben and all of us?"

"Next winter, may be."

Her father looked up from his paper and smiled. She seemed to have grown taller. What if, some day, he should lose his little girl!

The very next day Mr. Whitney announced that he was going to take the Deans and their cousins and Nora to the Museum. He wanted the little girl to go with them. Delia was visiting in Philadelphia. He promised, laughingly, to have them all home in good season.

CHAPTER XIII