Five Happy Weeks | Page 7

so straight, and--who ever heard of reading the Bible, in the middle of the afternoon, on a week day?" said Johnnie with an air of assurance.
"Well, Johnnie, to tell the truth, I did not like your bringing all the riff-raff of the town to eat my nice cherries."
"But you said we might do it."
"I should think, Johnnie, you would have liked better to have such friends as Percival Lester and Reginold Randolph, or Maggie and Clara Vale, to play with. I fear you have low tastes, child."
At this charge, little Johnnie colored up, but he stood his ground.
"The reason we asked them was because they couldn't buy any fruit, if they wanted it ever so much; and we thought it would please them and make them happy."
Edith had been thoughtfully turning over the leaves of her Bible, and now she said:
"Auntie, here are some verses I once read to mamma:
"'When thou makest a dinner or a supper, call not thy friends, nor thy brethren, neither thy kinsmen, nor thy rich neighbors, lest they also bid thee again, and a recompense be made thee.
"'But when thou makest a feast, call the poor, the maimed, the lame, the blind; and thou shalt be blessed, for they cannot recompense thee, for thou shalt be recompensed at the resurrection of the just.'"
"There," said Johnnie, "haven't we made a Bible feast?"
"Yes, my dears," Aunt Maria replied, "and I beg your pardon. The truth is, I have not been very much displeased with you, but thought I would try you a little. Now as you have had a good rest, you may all go out and play."
"I think Aunt Maria ith a naughty woman," said Mabel in a very low voice to Edith, as they left the room.
Rose, who had been present all the while, heard her, and so did Aunt Maria, but neither said a word, till the children were out of hearing. Then Rose said,
"I'm afraid I agree with little Mabel. Dear Mrs. MacLain, what made you pretend to be vexed, if you were not?"
"I am not obliged to explain my actions to every one, am I, Rose?" said the lady. "Children are a sort of a puzzle to me, never having had any of my own; and I don't believe I know how to bring them up. But these of Helen's are pretty good, especially Johnnie."
Aunt Maria had some very stylish friends who occasionally visited her. They sent word beforehand concerning their coming, and great preparations were made. On the day of their arrival, the little folks were arrayed in their very best, and Edith and Mabel took their dolls, and were seated in the parlor, that they might not get into the least disorder.
"Mrs. Featherfew is very particular," said Aunt Maria. "She will be sure to take notice, if you don't behave splendidly."
"I'll be glad when she's been and gone," remarked Johnnie.
Mrs. Featherfew however was quite different from what the children had been led to expect. She was a slender pretty looking lady, who seemed to float down the long parlor, she walked so lightly and gracefully, her long silk dress trailing behind her. The next day the two little girls amused themselves by playing "Mrs. Featherfew," Edith putting on a long gown of her aunt's for the purpose.
Two very elegant children came with Mrs. Featherfew, Wilhelmine and Victorine. They spoke very primly and politely, and seemed to our little folks like grown-up ladies cut down short. But when after dinner they all went out into the grounds to play, Mine and Rine, as they called each other, could play as merrily as the others.
The little girl to whom the dolly had been lent happened to be looking through the palings, just when the fun was at its height. She had rather a dirty face, and a very torn dress.
"Do look at that impertinent creature actually staring at us, as if she belonged here!" exclaimed Victorine, with amazement.
"Go right away, child," said Wilhelmine.
Now as these little girls were guests themselves, they were taking too much responsibility in ordering anybody off. Edith's face flushed, and she felt vexed. She would have preferred, after all her Aunt Maria had said about it, to have the Alley children keep a little more distance; but she could not let anybody hurt their feelings.
"That little girl is a friend of mine, Wilhelmine," spoke out the loyal little soul bravely. It was not in Edith, to be ashamed of any friend, no matter how humble.
Wilhelmine looked surprised, and Johnnie went on to tell how they had gotten acquainted. Before he had finished, the little visitors were so interested in the ragged girl, that they each gave her a bright five-cent piece.
So Edith did good by her fearlessness. We never know how much good we may do, by speaking