Even “Going to Jerusalem” was not a brilliant success. Most of the children marched rather listlessly around, dropping into chairs when the music stopped, without the usual scramble. Many of the little faces were flushed a dark red, and eyes were heavy-lidded. The announcement of supper was a relief, but Mrs. Drayton’s quick eyes noticed, to her perplexity, that many of the dainty dishes were passed by untouched, and that on many a plate the luscious creams and ices were scarcely tasted.
Directly after supper Cricket sought Eunice.
“Eunice, I can’t stand it any longer. The party is most out, and I must tell mamma that I have lumbago in my throat. If I don’t, it may get so bad it can’t be mended. I mean cured. Do you mind very much if I ask mamma to take us home? The party isn’t half as nice as I thought it was going to be.”
“I don’t mind a bit,” said Eunice, with an unexpected readiness. “I feel too queer for anything. Do you suppose it’s something awful we’ve got, Cricket?”
“I don’t know. I feel as if I were two persons plastered together. There’s so much of me. My eyes are pulled sideways down to my ears. I feel so queer and big,” finished Cricket, dolefully.
So a few minutes later Mrs. Ward heard a dilapidated little voice behind her:
“Mamma dear, we’re ready to go home whenever you are.”
Mamma was absolutely paralysed by this unexpected remark.
“Cricket! is it you? What is the matter, dear? Are you ill?”
“No-o. At least I think not. But—well—my head aches a little and my throat is stiff and hot, and my eyes are leaky and I’m sort of dizzy, and—”