skirts, and a shawl; a pair of spectacles and large pocket
handkerchief completed her toilette, making a plump, rosy little
matron of her.
Nan had a wreath of artificial flowers, a pair of old pink slippers, a
yellow scarf, a green muslin skirt, and a fan made of feathers from
the duster; also, as a last touch of elegance, a smelling-bottle
without any smell in it.
“I am the daughter, so I rig up a good deal, and I must sing and
dance, and talk more than you do. The mothers only get the tea and
be proper, you know.”
A sudden very loud knock caused Miss Smith to fly into a chair,
and fan herself violently, while her mamma sat bolt upright on the
sofa, and tried to look quite calm and “proper.” Little Bess, who
was on a visit, acted the part of maid, and opened the door, saying
with a smile, “Wart in, gemplemun; it’s all weady.”
In honor of the occasion, the boys wore high paper collars, tall
black hats, and gloves of every color and material, for they were an
afterthought, and not a boy among them had a perfect pair.
“Good day, mum,” said Demi, in a deep voice, which was so hard
to keep up that his remarks had to be extremely brief.
Every one shook hands and then sat down, looking so funny, yet so
sober, that the gentlemen forgot their manners, and rolled in their
chairs with laughter.
“Oh, don’t!” cried Mrs. Smith, much distressed.
“You can’t ever come again if you act so,” added Miss Smith,
rapping Mr. Bangs with her bottle because he laughed loudest.
“I can’t help it, you look so like fury,” gasped Mr. Bangs, with most
uncourteous candor.
“So do you, but I shouldn’t be so rude as to say so. He shan’t come
to the dinner-ball, shall he, Daisy?” cried Nan, indignantly.
“I think we had better dance now. Did you bring your fiddle, sir?”
asked Mrs. Smith, trying to preserve her polite composure.
“It is outside the door,” and Nat went to get it.
“Better have tea first,” proposed the unabashed Tommy, winking
openly at Demi to remind him that the sooner the refreshments
were secured, the sooner they could escape.
“No, we never have supper first; and if you don’t dance well you
won’t have any supper at all, not one bit, sir,” said Mrs. Smith, so
sternly that her wild guests saw she was not to be trifled with, and
grew overwhelmingly civil all at once.
“I will take Mr. Bangs and teach him the polka, for he does not
know it fit to be seen,” added the hostess, with a reproachful look
that sobered Tommy at once.
Nat struck up, and the ball opened with two couples, who went
conscientiously through a somewhat varied dance. The ladies did
well, because they liked it, but the gentlemen exerted themselves
from more selfish motives, for each felt that he must earn his
supper, and labored manfully toward that end. When every one
was out of breath they were allowed to rest; and, indeed, poor Mrs.
Smith needed it, for her long dress had tripped her up many times.
The little maid passed round molasses and water in such small
cups that one guest actually emptied nine. I refrain from
mentioning his name, because this mild beverage affected him so
much that he put cup and all into his mouth at the ninth round, and
choked himself publicly.
“You must ask Nan to play and sing now,” said Daisy to her
brother, who sat looking very much like an owl, as he gravely
regarded the festive scene between his high collars.
“Give us a song, mum,” said the obedient guest, secretly
wondering where the piano was.
Miss Smith sailed up to an old secretary which stood in the room,
threw back the lid of the writing-desk, and sitting down before it,
accompanied herself with a vigor which made the old desk rattle
as she sang that new and lovely song, beginning
“Gaily the troubadour
Touched his guitar,
As he was hastening
Home from the war.”
The gentlemen applauded so enthusiastically that she gave them
“Bounding Billows,” “Little Bo-Peep,” and other gems of song, till