She hastily sent Augusta out to the neighbors, letting her out slyly by the front door, so the “party” shouldn’t see her, to beg or borrow something to feed the crowd; for, the next day being baking-day, her pantry was nearly empty, and there was not such a thing in the village as a bakery.  As soon as she was gone, Mrs. Primkins cleared the table upstairs, hid the small biscuits and minute slices of cake, and brought tables from other rooms to lengthen this.  She then carried every cup and saucer and plate of her own up there, and even made several surreptitious visits herself to accommodating friends, to borrow, telling the news, and getting their sympathy, so that they freely lent their dishes, and even sent their boys to carry them over, and their big girls to help arrange.

For an hour, the games went on in the side yard, while a steady stream came in by the front door—­the grand front door!—­and up the august stairs, carrying bread, cake, dishes, saucers, etc., etc., till there was a tolerable supply, and Mrs. Primkins was in debt numerous loaves of bread and cake, and dishes of “preserves.”

At five o’clock, they were called in, and, before their sharp young appetites, everything disappeared like dew in the sunshine.  It was a queer meal,—­bread of various shapes and kinds, and not a large supply; cakes, an equally miscellaneous collection, from cup-cake which old Mrs. Kellogg had kept in a jar two months, “in case a body dropped in unexpected,” to bread-cake fresh from some one else’s oven; cookies of a dozen kinds; doughnuts and ginger-cakes, and half a dozen dishes of sweet-meats, no two alike.

But all deficiencies were forgotten when they came to the nuts and candies, for of these there was no lack.  Augusta had filled every extra dish in the house with these delightful things, and I sadly fear the children ate shocking amounts of trash.  But they had a good time.  The entertainment was exactly to their liking,—­little bread and butter, and plenty of candy and raisins.  It was incomparably superior to ordinary teas, where bread predominated and candy was limited.

After eating everything on the table, putting the remainder of the candy in their pockets, as Nimpo insisted, they flocked into the front room, where Mrs. Primkins told them they might play a while, if they would not make a noise, as a little sprinkle of rain had come up.  To insure quiet, each girl took off her shoes, and played in stocking-feet on the bare, rough floor, “blind-man’s-buff,” “hunt the slipper,” and other games, for an hour more.

Suddenly, Nimpo held up her foot.

“Girls! look there!” Nimpo’s tone was tragic.

The soles of her stockings were in awful holes!  All eyes were instantly turned on her, and forty feet were simultaneously elevated to view.  The tale was the same,—­every stocking sole was black as the ground, and worn to rags!

“What will Ma say?” rose in horror to every lip.