“Yes, a boomerang, and no mistake. Tell her, mamma.”
“Mrs. Drayton had arranged a children’s luncheon-party for Saturday as a surprise for Emily. Six were invited, and she intended to take them to a matinée afterward, to their box, to see ‘The Old Homestead.’ She invited you and Eunice. I thought I should let you go, Cricket, even though Eunice may not be well enough.”
Cricket came to her feet with a bound. “Can I go?” she asked, eagerly. “I am dying to see ‘The Old Homestead?’ Oh, goody, goody!”
“Don’t you understand, dear?” asked mamma. “The matinée-party shares the fate of the dinner-party. They are both over, and we were not there. You forgot the note, you see, and it was last Saturday, you know.”
“Last Saturday! Have I lost it!” exclaimed Cricket, with eyes as large as saucers.
“Whew!” whistled Donald. “That’s a good hard whack with the boomerang, my lady. You threw it well, that time.”
“Hush, Donald,” said mamma. “Don’t tease her.”
Cricket burst into a flood of tears. To have lost one of Emily Drayton’s parties! Such beautiful parties her mamma always had for her, too. And then think of a matinée and a box! Dr. Ward did not approve of much theatre-going for little people, and the children rarely went, excepting for their Christmas treat. All Cricket’s little friends had seen ‘The Old Homestead,’ and she had been begging for weeks to go. Now by her own careless forgetfulness she had lost it. It was too dreadful. Her boomerang had struck her a “whack,” indeed.
“I’m awfully sorry for you, Cricket,” Marjorie said, “but I can’t help hoping that you’ll realize now how pleasant it is for other people to lose flower-shows and umbrellas and dinner-parties.”
“Make her stop, mamma!” sobbed wretched Cricket. “I’m always sorry when I forget your things, Marjorie.”