“A party?” Mr. Woodstock raised his brows in astonishment.  “Who are you going to invite?”

“You’ll think it a strange notion.—­I wonder whether I can make it seem as delightful to you as it does to me.  Suppose we went to those houses of yours, and got together as many poor little girls as we could, and brought them all here to spend an afternoon in the garden.  Think what an unheard-of thing it would be to them!  And then we would give them some tea, and take them back again before dark.”

The proposal filled Mr. Woodstock with dismay, and the habitual hardness of his face suggested a displeasure he did not in reality feel.

“As you say, it’s a strange notion,” he remarked, smiling very slightly.  “I don’t know why you shouldn’t have your own way, Ida, but—­it’ll cost you a good deal of trouble, you know.”

“You are mistaking me, grandfather.  You think this a curious whim I have got into my head, and your kindness would tempt you to let me do a silly thing just for the sake of having my way.  It is no foolish fancy.  It’s not for my sake, but for the children’s.”

Her eyes were aglow with earnestness, and her voice trembled.

“Do you think they’d care for it?” asked her grandfather, impressed by something in her which he had never seen before.

“Care for it!—­Imagine a poor little thing that has been born in a wretched, poverty-stricken, disorderly home, a home that is no home, and growing up with no knowledge of anything but those four hateful walls and the street outside.  No toys, no treats, no change of air; playing in the gutter, never seeing a beautiful thing, never hearing of the pleasures which rich people’s children would pine and die without And a child for all that.”

Mr. Woodstock cleared his throat and smoothed the newspaper upon his knee.

“How will you get them here, Ida?”

“Oh, leave that to me!  Let us choose a day; wouldn’t Saturday be best!  I will go there myself, and pick out the children, and get their mothers to promise to have them ready.  Then I’ll arrange to have one of those carts you see at Sunday-school treats.  Why, the ride here, that alone!  And you’ll let me have tea for them,—­just bread and butter and a bun,—­it will cost not half as much as my new dress this week, not half as much—­”

“Come, come, I can’t stand this!” growled out Abraham, getting up from the seat.  “I’d give them the garden, for good and all, rather than see you like that.  Say Saturday, if it’s fine; if not, Monday, or when you like.”

On the following morning the details were arranged, and the next day Ida went to Litany Lane.  She preferred to go alone, and on this errand Mr. Woodstock would have found a difficulty in accompanying her.  Ida knew exactly the nature of the task she had taken in hand, and found it easier than it would have been to the ordinary young lady.  She jotted down the names of some twenty little girls, selecting such as were between the ages of eight and twelve, and obtained promises that all should be ready at a fixed hour next Saturday.  She met with doubts and objections and difficulties enough, but only failed in one or two instances.  Then followed fresh talks with her grandfather, and all the details were arranged.