"That's just why we want to have them, Mother. The Creek thinks the Morton family is entirely too grown up and stiff. They'll be good-natured, never fear."

That evening Chicken Little and Sherm put their heads together.

"We just must find some way to fool Frank--I sha'n't be happy if we don't." Chicken Little bit her lips and studied. "Can't you think of something, Sherm?"

"Not right off the bat, but if we keep our eyes open, we'll find a way.

It would be jolly if we could do it before the crowd. They would so love to see Frank have to take his own medicine. Say, this party is going to be a Jim dandy!"

It had been decided to have the gathering at the cottage, as the big sitting room and the bedroom adjoining would hold more people than Mrs.

Morton's parlor, sitting room, and dining-room all three. Further, the parlor, being separated from the other rooms by a short hallway, was of use only for some little group who wished to be by themselves. Sherm and Chicken Little were busy all day tr.i.m.m.i.n.g up the pictures and the windows with evergreen and bitter sweet berries, mixed with trailers from the j.a.panese honeysuckle, which still showed green underneath where it had escaped the hardest freezes. Marian flitted in occasionally with suggestions, but the two did most of the work alone. Chicken Little began by giving Sherm precise directions as to how he was to arrange each branch and spray, but, presently, he began to try little effects of his own so much more charming than hers, that she called Marian in to see.

"You certainly have a knack for decoration, Sherm. I never dreamed you were artistic. Why didn't you tell us? That spray against the curtain is exquisite. Have you ever taken drawing lessons?" Marian was both surprised and interested to discover this unexpected talent in the self-contained lad.

"No, I have never taken real drawing--I used to copy little geometrical designs at school along with the rest."

"Well, you surely ought to have lessons. I shouldn't wonder if you had the making of an artist in you." Marian hurried back to her custards.

Chicken Little went on tying evergreen into ropes, but Marian had put several new ideas into her head.

"Do you want to be an artist, Sherm?"

"No, I want to be an architect."

"You never said anything about it before."

"What's the use of talking? Doesn't look as if I would ever get the education to be one now."

"Why, you can't tell. Even if your father can't send you, maybe you could work your own way--Mr. Clay has." Chicken Little looked troubled; Sherm's tone revealed a yearning she had not suspected.

"Yes, I could work my way if I had the chance. I guess Father is never going to be well again and----" He paused for a moment as if it were hard to go on. "Even if he lives, I may have to keep at work to support the family. Mother never says anything, and Father never told me much about his business--I don't know how much we have, but I'm afraid there isn't a great deal left."

There was a hopeless ring in his voice that hurt Chicken Little. She wanted to double up her fist and attack somebody or something in Sherm's behalf.

"I think they--your mother ought to tell you."

"Oh, Mother doesn't realize I am most grown--she--she doesn't think I amount to much I guess." The boy had been brooding; his manhood affronted because he had not been permitted to share in the family councils.

"Don't feel that way--she doesn't mean to leave you out, Sherm. You know it's awfully hard to write things and you have been away most a year."

"That's just it. I've been away most a year, and Mother doesn't even hint at my coming back!"

"But Sherm, she's so worried all the time about your father."

"All the same, I bet your mother wouldn't forget about Ernest if your father was ill. I am the only boy in the family and I know I could help, if they'd only trust me. It's being left out that hurts, Chicken Little.

But forget everything I've said. I didn't mean to blab this way. I s'pose Mother's right--I can't even keep my own affairs to myself."

Sherm shut his lips together tightly.

Jane tactfully changed the subject.

"I suppose you'd have to know a lot to be an architect."

"Yes, right smart--I'd need a college education, and then I'd like to go to Paris and study at the Beaux Arts."

"What's that?"

"Oh, it's a school for architects and artists. I don't know very much about it myself. The New York architect who designed the new court house at home told me I ought to go there, if I ever wanted to be a real honest to goodness architect. I had a talk with him one day. He said if I ever got ready to go, to write to him, and he would give me some letters to people in Paris."

"My, wouldn't that be grand to study in Paris? I most wish I was a boy--they can do such wonderful things."

The neighborhood gatherings began early. By half-past seven, hitching posts and trees and fence were all in use for the teams. Frank was pleased.

"If there is anything in numbers, this party is going to be a success.

Sure you have plenty to eat?"

Marian groaned. "Frank, I am dead sure we have all the food we can possibly serve between now and midnight. I don't see how we are ever to manage."

"Don't worry, I'll impress about a dozen of the young folks as waiters--they will like nothing better. The boys each have one more pair of hands than they know what to do with. Look at the Raddon boys over by the fireplace. They have put their hands in their pockets, and taken them out, and dropped them by their sides, and picked up every bit of bric-a-brac on the mantel, and smoothed back their hair, and Heaven knows what else, during the last ten minutes. Hands are an awful responsibility! It will be a G.o.dsend to them to give them something to do."

Chicken Little came out, after helping with wraps and seating guests, in a gale of merriment.

"Oh, Marian, do take a peep at Mrs. Brown. She has a purple skirt and a blue polonaise and a red bow on her hair, and she's got her hair banged in front and pulled back tight as can be behind."

"Hush, Jane, they're our guests."

"I know, and I didn't mean to be making fun--but Marian, she's a sight!

And Jake Schmidt's wife and sister have the loveliest hand embroidered caps and ap.r.o.ns, with exquisite lace, that they brought from the old country, and some of the other women are sort of turning up their noses at them. I wish you'd go and say something extra nice to them."

Marian found her way to where Christine and Johanna Schmidt were shrinking into a corner, painfully aware that their festal dress was very different from their neighbors'. Marian asked after the children and said one or two pleasant things to make them feel at home, then, raising her voice a trifle so that the whole room might hear, she lifted a corner of Johanna's ap.r.o.n, exclaiming: "Where did you get this exquisite ap.r.o.n? I don't believe I have ever seen such a beautiful one.

May I look at the lace?"

Johanna colored with pleasure. She forgot her shyness and explained eagerly. Marian did not leave her until she had made every woman in that part of the room admire both hers and Christine's old country handiwork, and they had promised to show her how to make the lace. There was no more smiling at their unusual dress. Others followed Marian's example in asking to be taught the beautiful craft. Old Jake himself, who had never before considered his women folk as amounting to much, was so gratified by the attention they were receiving, that he was more offensive than usual.

"Never mind," said Frank, "I'll fix Jake."

The early part of the evening pa.s.sed in visiting and games. Supper was served at ten. There was a stir when the refreshments appeared. Word had gone about that there was to be some hoaxing in connection with the supper and everybody was firmly resolved not to be fooled. Marian allayed suspicion by starting them off with delicious coffee and rolls and cold ham and turkey. Having tasted these gingerly, and found them delicious, both young and old grew less wary. Chicken Little came in demurely with a great dish of pickles. The Creek loved pickles. It helped itself plentifully. Captain Clarke got the first taste of brine, but after one surprised grimace, he went on eating it heroically, while he watched the others. Old Jake promptly fixed his eye on a nice firm-looking green one. He lifted the fork awkwardly and attempted to take the pickle. The pickle slid from under the fork as if it had been greased. Jake was terribly afraid of being a laughing stock; he glanced slily around to see if any one had noticed. Frank was watching from the opposite side of the room, but Jake did not see him. He grasped the fork firmly in his great fist and speared the pickle as if he had been harpooning a fish. The pickle resented such violence. It shot out of the dish and half way across the room with old Jake, the fork still clenched firmly, gazing stupidly after it.

"April Fool, Jake!" called one of the men who saw the joke. Some one picked up the pickle and pa.s.sed it from hand to hand. After that, people avoided the wooden pickles, but several took liberal bites of brine-steeped ones.

The fun was well under way by this time. So many people had been victimized that many refused the dainties they coveted, for fear of being deceived, only to find their next neighbor enjoying them. The guests began to try to catch each other, and the young men would get Marian to point out the traps. But, so far, Frank had escaped, though Sherm and Chicken Little had been plotting all day. They took Captain Clarke into their confidence, but even he failed, until he had the happy thought of getting Wing to help. Wing had been working busily in the kitchen a.s.sisting Annie.

Frank had steadily refused cotton wool doughnuts and sanded pie and every doubtful delicacy, but he was extremely fond of cup custard. When Wing approached him, urging that he be served now, Frank hesitated a moment, then said: "Just bring me a custard, Wing. And Wing, don't let anybody meddle with it."

Wing came grinning to the conspirators.

"Oh, dear," said Chicken Little, "I think the custards are all right."