The Little Colonel's House Party

f the little brown house where the Ware family lived. It had rained all day, a cold, steady p

They had a tent made of the clothes-horse and some sheets, and the growling and roaring that went on inside was something terrific. It made no d

ed for the potatoes to boil she stood with her face pressed aga

chicken-coop leaning against it, the weather-beaten old stable, and a scraggy, dripping peach-tre

ille's pear-tree in the old French garden. Then I was tired of France and everything foreign, and would have given all I owned to be

me ago, in looking back upon it. She had settled down into the common humdrum round of duties so completely that sometimes it seemed to her

hen, followed by the rest of the menagerie. "I'm tired of being a lion," she said, wiping her flushed little face with the sleeve of

is sore, and I'm hungry. Isn

eady in ten minutes," she answered, and

-night," said Holland, "and turkey and sausages. Don't you

er. "I'd rather have ice cream and chocolate cake. If I had a witch wit

. I would wish myself back in Tours, with Madame sweeping down to dinner in her red velvet gown, and the candle-light shining on the cut glass and silver. I'd wish for dinner to be served elegantly in courses as Henri did it there every night, and I'd hear old Monsieur making his little jokes

as and visited old chateaux where kings and queens once lived. She was the only child in Plainsville who could boast the distincti

le. "I hate to live in a little crowded-up house, and spoil my hands w

st speech, for the little mother had come into the kitchen i

l never be satisfied with the littl

ied Joyce. "You know that usually I am as contented as a cricket; but I

utside, and the violent flapping of an umbrel

her heels. "A letter for Joyce!" they called in chorus the next instant, all str

d Joyce, and Mrs. Ware's face ligh

prove an antidote for your blues. I had a letter from the s

her eyes round with curiosity,

wer to the look of eager interest in Mary's eyes. "Three girls who grew up together: Joyce Allen (your sister is named for her), Elizabeth Lloyd, and myself. And now our little daughter

l surprise. "Oh, mother!" she cried, "do you really mean i

oward the envelope l

Sherman has sent a pass. As for the clothes, well, y

ate?" gas

for nearly a week, waiting for this letter, which I knew was on its way, and inside are the very things you need

shoulders, and her face ashine, as she cried, "Oh, sister

d her face against her shoulder. "Oh, mother," she sobbed, "I don't deserve it all! Here I've been so fretful and discontented all day, thinking there'd never be any good times any more, and

tle slice of this, too. I wonder what she will say when she sees a certain pink parasol that I saw in that box, and a white sash

a long-drawn "Oh!" Then she clasped her moth

or Holland

es

ing fo

es

g for th

Ware

d y

her

tedly, spinning around and around in the kitchen floor until the red ribbons stood out at

pointed needle. Holland and the baby joined in, each trying to make a louder noise than the

stopped to take breath. "The neighbours will think that the house i

ck went to change his wet clothes, and the three smaller children trotted bac

oss the wet pavement drew his gaze to a window whose blinds had not been closed, and the picture lingered pleasantly in his memory for many a day. It was the Ware family at supper. And

d around her gingham apron, the pink parasol held high above her head, and her fa

RIBBONS AND EXAM

ey seemed to have unlocked a door into the little mother's memory. Story after story she brought out to entertain them, of the thin

e sorted the ribbons and examined the gloves, counted the handkerchiefs and inspected the stockings, dividing everything into three piles. One

ormance with interest. "You're separating the sheep from the goats; on

away as her lawful spoils, "for I always get all the goats. Now my dolls can set up

t used it half a dozen times since I got it Christmas, and you will want to put on s

nst her and looking up into her face with an anxious little pucker on his

uggle evidently going on in her mind. Then she began again, bravely: "Yes,

cepted the umbrella, but refused the spotted tie and rosebud sash, to the evident relief of their owners,

everybody take so much interest in your having a good time? I wonder if the

and Eugenia Forbes, with all her wealth, is practically homeless, for

at it held, just then, for a king's palace. Outside in the pitch-darkness of the night the rain beat against the window-panes like some poor beggar imploring to come in; and inside it was so cosy