pitch into the folks passing by, and go out and bring home plunder.
Now, Rumple, you go and carry off a basket of cake, and I ‘ll
watch here till Katy comes by with a fresh lot of oysters; Polly
must have some. Sherry, cut into the kitchen, and bring a cup of
coffee. Spider, scrape up the salad, and poke the dish through the
slide for more. Eat away, Polly, and my men will be back with
supplies in a jiffy.”
Such fun as they had in that closet; such daring robberies of
jelly-pots and cake-boxes; such successful raids into the
dining-room and kitchen; such base assaults upon poor Katy and
the colored waiter, who did his best, but was helpless in the hands
of the robber horde. A very harmless little revel; for no wine was
allowed, and the gallant band were so busy skirmishing to supply
the ladies, that they had not time to eat too much. No one missed
them; and when they emerged, the feast was over, except for a few
voracious young gentlemen, who still lingered among the ruins.
“That ‘s the way they always do; poke the girls in corners, give ’em
just one taste of something, and then go and stuff like pigs,”
whispered Tom, with a superior air, forgetting certain private
banquets of his own, after company had departed.
The rest of the evening was to be devoted to the German; and, as
Polly knew nothing about it, she established herself in a window
recess to watch the mysteries. For a time she enjoyed it, for it was
all new to her, and the various pretty devices were very charming;
but, by and by, that bitter weed, envy, cropped up again, and she
could not feel happy to be left out in the cold, while the other girls
were getting gay tissue-paper suits, droll bonbons, flowers,
ribbons, and all manner of tasteful trifles in which girlish souls
delight. Everyone was absorbed; Mr. Sydney was dancing; Tom
and his friends were discussing base-ball on the stairs; and Maud’s
set had returned to the library to play.
Polly tried to conquer the bad feeling; but it worried her, till she
remembered something her mother once said to her, “When you
feel out of sorts, try to make some one else happy, and you will
soon be so yourself.”
“I will try it,” thought Polly, and looked round to see what she
could do. Sounds of strife in the library led her to enter. Maud and
the young ladies were sitting on the sofa, talking about each other’s
clothes, as they had seen their mammas do.
“Was your dress imported?” asked Grace.
“No; was yours?” returned Blanche.
“Yes; and it cost oh, ever so much.”
“I don’t think it is as pretty as Maud’s.”
“Mine was made in New York,” said Miss Shaw, smoothing her
skirts complacently.
“I can’t dress much now, you know, ’cause mamma’s in black for
somebody,” observed Miss Alice Lovett, feeling the importance
which affliction conferred upon her when it took the form of a jet
necklace.
“Well, I don’t care if my dress is n’t imported; my cousin had three
kinds of wine at her party; so, now,” said Blanche.
“Did she?” And all the little girls looked deeply impressed, till
Maud observed, with a funny imitation of her father’s manner,
“My papa said it was scan-dill-us; for some of the little boys got
tipsy, and had to be tooked home. He would n’t let us have any
wine; and gwandma said it was vewy impwoper for childwen to do
so.”
“My mother says your mother’s coup, is n’t half so stylish as ours,”
put in Alice.
“Yes, it is, too. It ‘s all lined with gween silk, and that ‘s nicer than
old wed cloth,” cried Maud, ruffling up like an insulted chicken.
“Well, my brother don’t wear a horrid old cap, and he ‘s got nice
hair. I would n’t have a brother like Tom. He ‘s horrid rude, my
sister says,” retorted Alice.
“He is n’t. Your brother is a pig.”
“You ‘re a fib!”
“So are you!”
Here, I regret to say, Miss Shaw slapped Miss Lovett, who