“Invite her, then, for my sake, and in my name,” pleaded Lizzie, but Lucy only replied: 

“I shall do no such thing;” and thus the matter was settled.

Amid the hurry and preparation for the party, days glided rapidly away, and Thursday morning came, bright, beautiful, and balmy, almost, as an autumnal day.

“Isn’t this delightful!” said Lucy, as she stepped out upon the piazza, and felt the warm southern breeze upon her cheek.  “It’s a wonder, though,” she continued, “that Madam Nature didn’t conjure up an awful storm for my benefit, as she usually does!”

Before night she had occasion to change her mind concerning the day.

Dinner was over, and she in Lizzie’s room was combing out her long curls, and trying the effect of wearing them entirely behind her ears.  Suddenly there was the sound of sleigh bells, which came nearer, until they stopped before the door.  Lucy flew to the window, and in tones of intense anger and surprise, exclaimed, “Now, heaven defend us! here is Cousin John’s old lumber sleigh and rackabone horse, with Berintha and a hair trunk, a red trunk, two bandboxes, a carpet-bag, a box full of herbs, and a pillowcase full of stockings.  What does it all mean?”

She soon found out what it all meant, for Berintha entered the room in high spirits.  Kissing Lizzie, she next advanced toward Lucy, saying, “You didn’t expect me, I know; but this morning was so warm and thawing that John said he knew the sleighing would all be gone by Saturday, so I concluded to come to-day.”

Lucy was too angry to reply, and rushing from the room, she closed the door after her, with a force which fairly made the windows rattle.  Berintha looked inquiringly at Lizzie, who felt inadequate to an explanation; so Berintha knew nothing of the matter until she descended to the kitchen, and there learned the whole.  Now, if Lucy had treated her cousin politely and good-naturedly, she would have saved herself much annoyance, but on the contrary, she told her that she was neither expected nor wanted there; that parties were never intended for “such old things;” and that now she was there, she hoped she would stay in her own room, unless she should happen to be wanted to wait on the table!

This speech, of course, exasperated Berintha, but she made no reply, although there was on her face a look of quiet determination, which Lucy mistook for tacit acquiescence in her proposal.

Five—­six—­seven—­eight—­struck the little brass clock, and no one had come except old Dr. Benton, who, being a widower and an intimate friend of the family, was invited, as Lucy said, for the purpose of beauing grandma!  Lizzie, in crimson double-gown, and soft, warm shawl, was reclining on the sofa in the parlor, the old doctor muttering about carelessness, heated rooms, late hours, etc.  Grandma, in rich black silk and plain Quaker cap, was hovering near her favorite child, asking continually if she were too hot, or too cold or too tired, while Lucy, in white muslin dress and flowing curls, flitted hither and thither, fretting at the servants, or ordering grandma, and occasionally tapping her sister’s pale cheek, to see if she could not coax some color into it.