Part 1 — CHAPTER III.

he first week of Valentine's stay passed rapidly. So much of his time was occupied in visits to the oculist and in seeing the sights of the city that he was not in the house during the greater part of the day.

The Misses Herrick began to fuel some degree of liking for the boy, who, though occasionally noisy, was always polite, and he and Elizabeth were soon firm friends.

She had carried out her intention of consulting him about the affairs which most interested her. She had told him of her longing for their father's return and of the letter she had written to him; she had even conducted him to the mysterious room.

Her aunts had gone out of town for the afternoon, and Miss Rice was also absent. The coast was exceptionally clear, for Marie, who had charge of the little girl, was only too ready to neglect her duties.

Elizabeth was somewhat disappointed, however, by the effect produced upon Valentine by the disclosure of the room, or rather, the lack effect. He was apparently not in the least impressed.

He looked about him, inspected the letters, took down a little clock from the mantelpiece and examined it, and then walked to the window.

"Well," said Elizabeth, who was impatiently waiting for some expression of wonder, "what do you think of it?"

"I don't see anything to make such a fuss over. Just a room, like anybody's else."

"But whose was it?"

"Don't know and don't care."

"You don't? Why, I think it is the most exciting thing I ever heard of!"

"If that isn't just like a girl! I suppose Marjorie would go wild over it too. But come along down to the garden. I haven't seen the Brady family yet, and I believe that is one of the girls down in the alley now."

"It is," said Elizabeth, joining him at the window. "It is Eva Louise. Very well, we will go down. But I do wish you would be more excited over the room."

"It takes a good deal to excite me," replied her guest. "If it were a game of football, now, or a bicycle-race, I might get excited; but just a room!"

It would be impossible to convey an idea of the lofty scorn expressed by Valentine's voice; and much disappointed and feeling somewhat crushed, Elizabeth put away the keys. Then getting her hat and warm jacket, for the fall days were growing colder, she followed Valentine to the garden, and together they went out through the back gate.

It is one of the peculiarities of Philadelphia that small streets known as "alleys" intersect the larger thoroughfares, and in many cases behind the handsomest houses are small dwellings in which live very poor families.

The Herricks' garden occupied a large amount of space, and the alley and its inhabitants were almost too far away to be noticeable; but they were there, all the same, and here Elizabeth's friends, the Brady family, lived in a manner which formed a startling contrast to her own home.

"I have thought of something," exclaimed Elizabeth, stopping short in the alley. Eva Louise, seeing them coming, had disappeared behind her own back gate. Even in so humble an abode as that of the Bradys it was only the back which opened upon the alley.

"What is it?" asked Valentine.

"It is about the Bradys," said Elizabeth, standing close to him and speaking in a low, mysterious voice that she might not be overheard from the other side of the fence. "Don't you think, Val, that it must be very hard for those girls to live in such a tiny little house and never to have a bit good time? Why, Eva Louise thinks the very nicest thing she can do is to play jack-stones on people's door-steps. Just think of it, Val, jack-stones! And she told me once that she had never been inside of any house, except those in their street that are like their own!"

"Well, what of it? We can't help it; and what is your idea?"

"But we can help it! That is just what I am going to tell you. We can invite the Bradys in to see us."

"Oh, my eye! What would Aunt Caroline say?"

Elizabeth was silent for a minute. She had not thought of that. "I don't know," she said, slowly. "I don't suppose Aunt Caroline would like it. We will have to give it up."

"No, we won't," returned Val, who was becoming bored with city life and longed for excitement of some kind. "Let's have a party to-day while the aunts are away. They would never know."

"We might; but I should tell them afterwards, of course. I really should, Val."

"Seems to me you are getting pretty particular all of a sudden. How about that room that you go to all the time on the sly?"

"That is true. I don't believe that is right. Why didn't you say so before, Val? I will tell Aunt Caroline to-night."

"I say," interrupted Valentine, "I've got a dandy idea! Let's ask the Brady family over, and take them up to that room! No one will ever know, and it would be a jolly lark. I'll open the front door, and the servants won't know, either. It will be no end of fun. You go after them now and bring them over. You see, if we had them in the other part of the house we couldn't keep them out of sight, and the servants would make a fuss."

Elizabeth looked doubtful. "I should like to," she said, "but we shall have to keep very quiet there, and not disturb the things in the room much. It really seems as if we ought to give them a good time, though, and when I explain it all to Aunt Caroline I don't believe she will mind; do you? At least, not so very much."

"Of course she won't," said Valentine, hopefully, upon whom the scheme had taken a strong hold. "Go and get them and bring them around to the front door, and I will let you in."

And without giving her time to remonstrate, Val left her and ran up the garden walk to the house.

"After all," said Elizabeth to herself, "it can't be a wrong thing to do, for it says in the Bible that when people give parties they ought to invite all kinds of queer people. I remember perfectly it says to call in the lame, the halt, and the blind. I always thought 'call in' was such a funny expression, but I am sure it says it somewhere in the Bible, and I think it was about that party. Now the Brady family are not lame or blind, but perhaps they are halt. I never knew what halt meant, and very likely they are halt. Anyhow, I mean to call them in." And suiting the action to the word, she raised her voice and called loudly: "Eva Louise! Eva Louise!"

Eva Louise had been surveying her neighbors through a hole in the fence for some time. She had even caught a word or two of the conversation, and had heard her own name mentioned, but she had not understood what it was all about. Now, seeing that Elizabeth was alone, she opened the gate.

"What do yer want?" she asked.

"Is Bella at home?"

"Guess so."

"And Tom?"

"Nope."

"Is Dick?"

"Nope."

"Isn't George?"

"Nope."

"Nor Billy?"

"Nope."

"Oh, dear me, I am so sorry! Then who is at home?"

"Me an' Bella an' the baby an' ma an', I guess, pop. He's mostly home. Pop ain't workin' now, but the boys is. What do yer want?"

"Well, I want to invite you all over to our house. I am sorry the boys are not at home." Here Elizabeth paused, somewhat embarrassed. She did not care particularly about having "ma" and "pop" Brady. The former was inclined to be cross, and there was a disagreeable odor about Mr. Brady which it was well to avoid. Elizabeth did not know just what it was, but it reminded her of that which was sometimes wafted to her from a corner saloon. Clearly it would not do to "call in" Mr. and Mrs. Brady. "Well," she said, with a sudden inspiration, "this is to be a young people's party. My brother and I are going to give it. I want to invite you and Bella to my house right away."

"To your house?" repeated the wondering Eva Louise.

"Yes. And we will go around outside to Fourth Street. Go get Bella."

So Eva Louise went into the house and informed her astonished family that she and Bella were "axed to a party over to Herrickses." Whereupon Mrs. Brady promptly seized first one and then the other of her daughters, vigorously applied a scrubbing-brush to hands and faces, set upon the tangled heads two gaudy hats with lace and flowers, pinned together the gaping rent in Bella's frock, and pronounced them ready.

"And mind yer manners," she cautioned. "Act pretty, an' mebbe the ladies'll give yer each a present. There's no knowin'."

And then they rejoined Elizabeth in the alley, where she had waited, their hearts beating high with hope.

The little group passed out of the alley and around through Spruce Street to Fourth Street. A number of people turned and looked at the oddly assorted trio walking so soberly along, Elizabeth, in her large felt hat and pretty jacket, between Eva Louise and Bella, in their tawdry finery and ragged frocks; but Elizabeth was quite unconscious of attracting attention.

Her mind was absorbed with a new question which had presented itself. She had never heard of a party where the guests were not given some kind of refreshment, and she knew of no way in which she could provide it for the present occasion.

It would not do to ask the servants for something to eat, neither would it be proper to stop and buy what was necessary at the cake-shop while her guests were with her. She must consult with Valentine.

THE ARRIVAL OF EVA LOUISE AND BELLA.

Her fellow-conspirator was watching for them, and opened the door at once.

"Everything is all right," he whispered to Elizabeth. "The cook is busy making cake, and the other girls are all chattering, and James has gone round to the stable to see the men there. There won't be anybody around to see us. We'll take them right up."

"But wait a minute, Val," returned Elizabeth; "I want to ask you something. And first I must introduce you. That is the way I have heard Aunt Caroline do sometimes. This is my brother, Mr. Valentine Herrick, Miss Eva Louise and Miss Bella Brady. Now you know each other and can talk. If I had not introduced you, you know, you would not have been able to talk at all."

Apparently the introduction did not have the desired effect of promoting conversation, for Bella put her finger in her mouth, and Eva Louise turned her back upon the company, while Val himself with difficulty repressed a laugh.

"Will you please walk into the drawing-room and sit down a minute?" said their hostess. "I must speak to my brother, if you will please excuse me."

The guests obeyed, and were presently seated upon two of great-grandfather Herrick's chairs with the high carved backs, while Julius Cæsar from the window-seat stared in astonishment.

"We must give them something to eat, Val," whispered Elizabeth, in the hall. "How shall we get it?"

"I will go buy it," returned Val, promptly. "Let's see; have you got any money?"

"Yes; I have seventy-five cents, and if that isn't enough, I have some more in my little bank."

"Oh, that is enough, with what I've got. You will have to stay in the parlor till I get back, so as to let me in," and seizing his cap, he was off.

Elizabeth rejoined her visitors in the drawing-room and tried to make a conversation. Somehow, to talk to the Brady girls had never before been so difficult. In the alley there was always so much to say. Now they sat stiffly and straight upon their chairs, and their faces looked preternaturally solemn. There was silence in the room for a few minutes, and Julius came and rubbed himself against Elizabeth's feet. This suggested a topic.

"Do you like cats?" she asked.

"Yes," said Bella.

"Nope," said Eva Louise, simultaneously.

There was another pause.

"It is a very nice day to-day."

"Yes," they both replied.

Elizabeth thought deeply for several minutes. What could she say next?

"Are you at all halt?" she asked, presently.

The Misses Brady merely stared.

"Are you at all halt?" she repeated.

"Yes, I guess so," answered Bella, who, though doubtful, thought it polite to agree.

"Oh, that is a good thing," said Elizabeth, in a relieved tone. "I did not exactly know, you know, so I thought I had better ask. I am very glad you are halt. That makes it all right. And there is my brother come back. I will go and let him in, and then we will go up to the party."

Valentine returned laden with oddly shaped packages, and the four ascended the stairs together.

"It's a dandy old feast I've got," whispered the boy; "all the things that look so good, but you never have at home. We shall need some plates, though. I'll put these bundles down at the door, and while you are getting the keys I'll run down to the dining-room for the plates."

He came back in a short time with a pile of Miss Herrick's best china, the plates which were used for the salad course when she gave a dinner; and Elizabeth having procured the keys, they entered the room. The guests were still under the spell of silence. Being invited to remove their hats, they did so and laid them on the bed. Then they gazed at the floor.

"What shall we do?" said Elizabeth to Val, in an under-tone. She had never before realized what hard work it was to give a party.

"Let's begin on the grub," suggested her brother, whose appetite was sharpened by the thought of the cake-shop dainties which could never be enjoyed at home.

This seemed to be the best thing to do under existing circumstances, and Elizabeth removed the few articles which were on the table, and Val lifted it over to the centre of the room. A towel was spread over it for a table-cloth, the plates were set thereon, and then Val opened his packages and proudly placed the contents upon the plates.

There was a half pie, presumably custard, four large cocoanut balls, four sour-balls, four huge doughnuts, four buns (generously speckled with currants), and, crowning delicacy, a paper box of vanilla ice-cream.

Valentine made another raid upon the dining-room, and returned with forks, knives, and spoons, announcing that he had barely escaped meeting James, who was on his way up the back stairs just as Val left the pantry.

The guests were then invited to draw up their chairs, which they did with an alacrity that was most encouraging.

"I wonder if 'halt' means hungry?" thought Elizabeth. "I shouldn't wonder if it did."

She politely ignored the fact that both visitors scorned the assistance of forks in eating the pie, and devoted herself to removing currants from a bun. Somehow it did not seem an appetizing feast to her, but Valentine and the Brady girls were enjoying it, and that was all that was necessary.

At last the repast was over, the final course, consisting of a sour-ball, which so protruded the cheek of each member of the party that speech was for a time impossible, and then Elizabeth wondered what they should do next.

"Suppose we play a game," suggested Val, as soon as he could speak.

"So we will," agreed Elizabeth. "What shall it be? Eva Louise, do you know any nice games?"

"Nope."

"Do you, Bella?"

"Jack-stones."

"Oh yes, jack-stones. Well, we haven't got any."

"Yes, we have, too. I brung 'em."

"Oh, did you?"

Apparently there was no help for it. Elizabeth despised jack-stones, which hurt her knuckles, and which she never could catch; but one must be polite in one's own house.

"I say, you are funny ones!" said Val, who had thoroughly enjoyed his luncheon, and had now time to grasp the situation. Elizabeth's company manners amused him extremely, and the whole thing was "no end of a lark," as he expressed it.

"Why don't you play something you don't play at home?" he asked. "Let's try 'Fish, flesh, or fowl,' or 'When I was in Spain,' or some other nice game?"

Bella said nothing, but Eva Louise at last found her voice.

"Ef we don't play jack-stones, we ain't agoin' to play nuthin'. We're agoin' home."

Bella here nudged her sister's elbow.

"We ain't agoin' home till we get our presents. Yer know what ma said."

This aside was so plainly audible to the host and hostess, that Elizabeth looked shocked, but Val roared with laughter.

"Very well," said Elizabeth; "we will play jack-stones."

But at the first throw Val, in the exuberance of his feelings, tossed them so high that one landed on the table, right in the centre of one of Miss Herrick's delicate china plates, breaking it squarely in two.

"My eye!" exclaimed the boy. "What have I done?"

"Jack-stones are a hateful game, anyhow," cried Elizabeth, whose dismay caused her to forget her manners. "I don't know what Aunt Caroline will say. It is all your fault, Eva Louise, that Val broke the plate, for you made us play jack-stones."

"'Tain't, neither," returned Eva Louise, with asperity. "No one didn't tell him to throw the jack up there. An' ef this is what yer call a party, I don't think much of it. We hev as good pie as that at home, an' we can get ice-cream o' the ice-cream man any day he comes round. I say, Bella, let us go home."

But Bella still held back. Elizabeth looked at them for a moment in silent wrath, and then her feelings found words.

"Well, I should be very glad indeed if you did go home. I think you are very rude girls. And I never knew you had ice-cream whenever you wanted it, and all those nice things."

"No more we do," interposed Bella; "leastways, I never seen it. Eva Louise was makin' that up, I guess."

"Oh, was she? Then she tells stories, does she? I don't want to have anything more to do with you. You are very, very rude girls, and I am sorry I invited you to the party. I only asked you because you were halt."

"I dun'no' what yer talkin' about," replied Eva Louise, as she put on her hat; "only I guess yer'd better not name me no names, or I'll hev yer 'rested. Halt! I ain't no halt;" and with her head held high as she proudly sniffed the air, she walked from the room. Bella still lingered.

"Don't yer give no presents at yer party?" she asked.

Elizabeth had already begun to repent of her hasty speech. She feared that she had been rude, and she felt that she must make amends.

"Wait a minute," she said, flying up the short flight of stairs which led to her own room.

Eva Louise delayed her departure, and Bella looked more hopeful. Valentine hovered in the background, wondering what was going to happen next.

Presently Elizabeth returned. In one hand she held a silver calendar which had ornamented her desk, in the other a handsomely bound book.

"These are all I can find," she said, bestowing one upon either guest. "You see, I have to give you things that are really my own, and not Aunt Caroline's or Aunt Rebecca's. Val, we will go down with them to the front door."

The little procession in silence descended the two long double flights of stairs. The front door was opened for them, and the two visitors were about to depart, one carrying the silver calendar, which flashed gayly in a ray of sunlight, the other holding the large red-covered book.

"Good-by!" they said, cheerfully, feeling mollified by the presents.

"Good-by," returned Val and Elizabeth.

And even as they spoke a carriage drew up at the door, and from it stepped Miss Herrick. She paused in astonishment, and looked at the two strange figures emerging from her own front door, and at the two frightened faces in the hall beyond.

"What does this mean?" she asked, as she swept by them into the house and the door was closed.

[to be continued.]