St. Nicholas/Volume 32/Number 4/Hetty Macdonald's Birthday Party
Hetty Macdonald’s Birthday Party
By Elizabeth Elliot
If any one had ever called Hetty Macdonald’s attention to the matter, she would have agreed that it was n’t much fun to be the middle one. She adored her grown-up sister, tall, pretty, blonde Christine; and was scarcely less devoted to her second sister, Virginia, who was just about to leave school. And as to the twins, whose classic names, Romulus and Remus, were always abbreviated to Omy and Emy, which was more convenient if not as imposing, it would have been hard to persuade Hetty that there ever had been or ever would be again two such darling, mischievous, lovable boys as they were.
Much as she loved the twins, there were times when Hetty found them rather a trial. They were only five, and of such unwearying activity that they still really needed the undivided attention of an athletic nurse with muscles of steel and no nervous system. But Mrs. Macdonald could not afford this luxury; and, as she was a very busy woman herself, the sisters had to divide the care of the boys between them. When Hetty came home from school she was always warmly welcomed by Christine, who had been more or less on duty all day; and by the twins, too, for Hetty was much more fun than the older sister, who had theories about prompt obedience, consideration for others, etc., which were far too much of a handicap for their free spirits.
Somehow it came to be known in the school that Saturday was Hetty’s birthday. She did n’t remember having mentioned it; there was n’t much time or money spent on birthdays in the Macdonald family. She would much rather nothing had been known about it. All the girls in her class, as their birthdays came round, had had a party. These had been the occasion of great excitement and anticipation. Hetty had been asked with the others, and had eagerly accepted the invitation. She knew she would be expected ta reciprocate and, in her turn, to entertain the class. She had said as much as she dared on the subject at home, but had received no encouragement whatever.
“Please, Hetty dear, don’t ask to have a party this year,” said her mother. “I have all I can do now attending to Christine's company. Just rip this ruffle off, and then run down and see what the twins are about.”
So Hetty dropped the subject, except for a scattering fire of broad hints, which were not even recognized as hints by the family. But, though dropped at home, the theme persistently bobbed up at school.
“Is n’t next Saturday your birthday, Hetty?” asked Marion Dodge at recess.
The miserable Hetty confessed that it was.
“You ‘ll be thirteen, won't you?” went on the inexorable Marion. “Goimg to have a party?”
“Don’t bother me, Marion,” said Hetty, with unaccustomed incivility. “I’ve just got to finish this map before school begins.”
But the subject was only postponed, not abandoned, After school, as the girls were getting on their hats, another girl opened it. This time it was Katherine Carter,
“You ‘ll be thirteen Saturday, won’t you, Hetty?” she said. “Is n’t it fun to have your birthday come on Saturday? You ’re going to have a party, of course?”
“Yes, Hetty,” chimed in the eager chorus; “do tell us. Are you going to have a party?”
Driven to the wall, Hetty realized that there was no possibility of evading the question. She never knew what spirit of desperation took sudden possession of her.
“Yes,” she said calmly; “I am. All of you come Saturday afternoon at three o'clock.”
There was a joyous chorus of acceptances, and Hetty found herself a very popular personage, walking home in the midst of a lively group gaily planning what they should wear and what they should do at her party. She found it somewhat difficult to enter into the spirit of the occasion, as her mind would wander to the question of how she should break the news to her mother, and how it would he received.
As she parted with Marion, the last of the group, and made the rest of her way alone, Hetty’s heart sank lower. How was she ever going to face her mother and tell her what she had done? She resolved that she would do it right away, and at least have that part of the problem off her mind. But when she reached home she saw at once that this was no time to act on her resolution,
Her mother met her at the door.
“Oh, Hetty, child, I thought you were never coming,” she said. “Please run right down and get some more sewing-silk to match these samples. Miss Gilbert will be all out of it in fifteen minutes. And youd better take Emy and Omy with you. It is perfectly impossible for us to attend to them and the sewing at the same time.”
Hetty thought to herself rather grimly: “I ’ll just say right cut: ‘Mother, I'm going to have a party Saturday.’”
But she thought better of it and started off on her errand, with the twins gaily trotting at her heels or ahead of her, frolicking like young colts in their joy at being released from the bondage of indoors, and traveling four or five times each block of the way as they pranced back and forth. Hetty plodded along with unusual unresponsiveness, going over and over in her mind the various ways she could plan of telling her mother what she had done. When she came home again there were lessons and the twins, the table to set and the twins, and a general hurry and scramble till those little time-consumers had been put to bed. After they were asleep they looked so angelic, with their white nightgowns and their clean faces, that Hetty stayed for several extra kisses and felt mean that she had ever got tired of them. She determined to stay awake till her mother came up, in order to get the load off her mind; but the quiet and darkness were too much for her healthy and tired little body,-and she never knew when her mother stooped to tuck her in and kiss her good night, nor anything more till she was wakened in the bright morning sunshine by a heavy pillow thumping her on the face as it missed Omy,
There was never time in the morning, when there was always a frantic rush to get through everything that had to be done before time to go to school; so Hetty started off with her lunch and her books and the much heavier burden of black care riding on her shoulder.
At school it was no better. As her class assembled and at recess, in the lively twitter of girls’ voices there was an ever-recurring refrain of “Hetty Macdonald’s party,” “Hetty Macdonald’s party,” which poor Hetty thought would drive her mad.
On returning home, a strange serenity reigned in the house. There was no one visible till Hetty went upstairs and found Virginia hard at work on her Latin, the high-school girls being released an hour earlier than those of the lower grades.
“Where ’s mother?” demanded Hetty.
“She’s gone,” said Virginia, absently. “Aunt Ruth ’s ill and mother is to stay with her all night.”
Hetty’s heart fell like lead. All might! In the morning it would be too late. Oh, why had n’t she told her mother at first? How much worse it was to have it all come upon her at the last minute! She was so worried that even her sisters noticed her depression and said:
“Are you ill, Hetty? For goodness’ sake, don’t get ill while mother is away.”
“I ’ve got a sort of headache,” stammered Hetty; “I think I ’ll go to bed soon.”
After she had gone, Christine said rather anxiously: “The child looks pale, and she never talks about headache. 1 do hope she is n’t going to be ill.”
“Oh, she’s just tired romping,” said Virginia, easily. “Do see if yon can help me make any sense of this Latin gibberish.”
For once Hetty lay awake, heavy-hearted. When she did finally get to sleep, her last waking thought was a fervent wish:
She “just hoped there would be an awful thunder-storm, so that the girls could n’t come.”
But the gay morning sunshine blighted poor Hetty’s hopes of a storm. Her mother came home about noon, to be greeted with as warm a welcome as if she had been gone a week. But Hetty watched the clock feverishly as the hours slipped by.
“Nothing will happen,” she thought desperately. “Nothing will happen. They are all getting ready to come now.”
The early afternoon sped quickly. It was nearly three o’clock when her mother came upstairs, where Hetty was studying her lessons.
“Hetty,” she said, “I wish you would—why, child, what have you put on your best frock for?”
Hetty turned red, and the tears, so long kept back, sprang to her eyes.
“Oh, mother,” she began, half sobbing. “Somehow I never could tell you—”
But at this moment Emy and Omy dashed into the room, both talking at once and fairly bursting with importance.
“Hetty,” panted Emy, “’s a lot of girls downstairs, all dressed up—”
“And they say,” screeched Omy, drowning him out, “they ’ve come to Hetty’s party!”
“She started off on her errand with the twins.”
“What in the world are you children talking about?” inquired their mother, in a vexed tone. Then, with sudden realization of Hetty’s words and her dress, “Hetty,” she said sternly, “did you know they were coming?”
“Y-yes, mother, I did,” sobbed—Hetty.
To Mrs. Macdonald, her Southern instincts and traditions of hospitality, that “yes” transformed the girls from simple school-girl comrades into the sacredness of “invited company,” with all its recognized rights.
“Boys,” she said, turning to the twins with swift decision, “go right down and tell the girls that Hetty will be there in a minute; I am just fixing her hair. And then you come back and get on your clean suits.”
The twins thumped down the stairs, proclaiming in piercing tones on each step: “Hetty ’s got a party! Hetty ’s got a party!”
“Now, Hetty,” said her mother, quietly, “tell me all about it, quickly, while I braid your hair. And, whatever you do, don’t cry.”
Hetty swallowed her tears, and, while her mother with quick, deft fingers braided her hair and tied on her best bows, stammered out birthdays, how she had never had a party, and when they asked her she could n’t bear to say no; and how she had tried to tell her mother.
“Well,” said her mother, decidedly, “I ’ll do what I can for you; but it is a particularly inconvenient day, and I never heard of anything so inconsiderate. Now go downstairs and entertain them, and keep the parlor door shut, and send Emy and Omy to me, and tell Virginia she may leave her practising and come to me here.”
Hetty turned to start, about as cheerfully as if she had been going straight to the annual school examination. Her mother saw the downcast air and the pathetic appeal in the little girl’s eyes, and her whole mother-nature sprang to meet it. Busy and hurried as she was, her duty to the guests had been uppermost, but at that look came the thought of her duty to her own little girl. She gathered the child into a quick, close hug.
“Darling,” she said, “never mind. Don't look so mournful. Go and have a good time. Mother ’ll fix things for you.”
“Oh, mother,” gasped Hetty, “you are so good!”
And then she ran downstairs with a feeling of warm comfort around her heart which she had not known for days; and it was not many minutes before the chatter and laughter of the gay girls’ voices convinced Mrs. Macdonald that the party was well under way.
To Hetty, in the parlor, the afternoon sped away like a happy dream. She caught a glimpse of Virginia flashing past the window on her wheel, riding like mad down-town. Then all anxiety rolled off her mind and the glad buoyancy of childhood asserted itself. Everything was all right. Mother knew about it; mother would see to things. Then it seemed no time before Virginia was in the parlor, in a fresh white dress and with her hair tied at the back of her neck with a perfectly enormous white bow, pounding out two-steps with athletic precision on the piano, while the girls gaily bobbed about the room, under the impression that they were dancing. Then from some mysterious corner Virginia produced a large black-and-white map of Cinderella,—it could hardly be called a picture,— with her foot poised ready for the calico slippers which the blindfolded girls did their best to pin on it, Such joyous shrieks as they stuck them wildly on the walls and the curtains and one another, and everywhere but on the patiently poised foot! And where did Virginia get the pretty Japanese fan which Katherine Elliot waved proudly as the prize, and the red tin horn on which Gertrude lansing loudly tooted her despair at being the booby? At the sound of the horn the twins could no longer be held in leash, but burst tumultuously into the room, in their clean duck suits, and were rapturously welcomed by the girls, who thought them “too cunning for anything.”
From time to time Hetty caught sounds of rustling and the clinking of china in the dining-room behind the folding-doors. The effect was distinctly “partyish” and delightfully promising. But when the doors at last rolled back, it seemed to the little girl as if her heart would burst with its mixture of pride, gratitude, remorse, and affection, as she saw the dining-room. It was carefully darkened to give effect to the festive light of wax candles. There was her mother, dressed in her best black-lace dress, passing round the prettiest painted plates. Christine, in her pretty new pale-green mousseline, with a knot of black velvet high up in her yellow hair, was pouring chocolate into the best cups, and dropping generous “dabs” of whipped cream on lop of each one. There were the most enchanting little rolled sandwiches and brown and pink and green ice-cream. There were even crackers to pull. But the crowning glory was a massive white cake in the center of the table. Hetty instantly recognized its fluted cornice and turret as adornments she had seen in the confectioner’s window only the day before. But, wreathed with vivid nasturtiums and with thirteen red candles burning in a dazzling circle upon it, it was indeed a glittering vision.
After it was all over, and Virginia had got out her camera and “taken” the pretty group of girls in their white frocks out on the piazza, and happy Hetty bad received the last assurance of the loveliest time,” “the nicest party we ever had,” etc., and the last white frock had fluttered away, the little girl flew back to the dining-room, where her mother was busy “clearmg up.”
“Dearest, darling mother,” she cried, “how good you were! I did n’t deserve it! I had been such a sinner! But it was the beautifullest real party! How did you ever manage it?”
Not a word did Mrs. Macdonald say about the plans she had given up for that Saturday afternoon, or the economies she must practise to make up for the unusual expense.
“Virginia was in the parlor pounding out to-steps hile the girls bobbed about the room, under the impression that they were dancing.”
“Well, we did have to fly round,” she said cheerfully; “but we are so glad it was such a success, for your sake, dear.”
“I ’ll never ask for any more parties again as long as I live,” said Hetty, contritely.
“Oh, yes, you will, for a good many, I hope. Never neglect, though, to consult your mother first, for you may be sure that if it is possible and she thinks it wise, you can always depend upon her permission and help.