“‘Mrs. Mayfair, please come to tea to-morrow,’ I said.  Then I courtesied again, and hurried off, while Mrs. Mayfair was calling after me to tell my mother that it gave her great pleasure to accept her invitation.  But you see it wasn’t mother’s invitation.  I didn’t say ’mother says please come to tea,’ I just asked them to come of my own accord, in a fit of reckless daring, and then waited to see what would happen.  I invited nearly all the Dorcas Society.”

“And what happened?” asked the Little Colonel, eagerly.

Mrs. Brewster laughed at the remembrance, such a contagious, hearty laugh, that her bonnet-ribbons shook.

“I never said a word about it at home, but next day, a little while before sundown, I went to the window to watch for them.  Mother, who had been busy all day, boiling cider and making apple-butter, sat down with her knitting to rest a few minutes before supper.  She said she was tired, and that she would not cook much; that mush and milk would be enough.

“She couldn’t imagine what had happened when all the ladies appeared, and she sent me to open the door while she hurried to change her dress.  I followed the usual programme; invited them into the guest-chamber to lay aside their wraps and mantles, and then gave them seats in the parlour.  Mother was puzzled when she came in and saw them with their bonnets off, for she supposed, when she saw them coming down the path, that they were a committee from the Dorcas Society, on some business.  But presently one of the ladies patted me on the head, and complimented my pretty manners in delivering the invitation to tea.

“If a piece of the sky had fallen, mother could not have been more surprised, but she gave no sign of it then.  She only smiled and made a pleasant answer.

“I began to feel very comfortable, and to congratulate myself on the success of my little plan.  Presently she excused herself, and beckoned me to follow her out of the room.  Without a word, or even a glance of reproach, she bade me run across the street and ask my Aunt Rachel and her daughter Milly to come over at once and help her prepare for the unexpected guests.  They were both of them quick, capable women and fine housekeepers, and ‘flew around,’ as they expressed it, in such a marvellous way that at the proper time the customary feast was spread.

“It did look so good!  I walked around the table, my mouth watering as I looked at the tarts and marmalade and spiced buns, and all the other tempting dishes.  Mother watched me do it, and then, just before she invited the ladies out to the table, she sent me off to bed without a morsel to eat,—­not even a spoonful of mush and milk.

“I lay in an adjoining room, listening to the clatter of knives and forks, and the ladylike hum of conversation, and knew that the good things were slowly but surely disappearing, and that I could not have a taste.  I was so hungry and disappointed that I cried myself to sleep.  That disappointment and the lecture which followed next morning was punishment enough, and you may be sure that that was the last time I ever invited my mother’s friends on my own responsibility.”