"But she hasn't any dress!" my mother cried, in consternation. "Only that white Sunday one which is much too short!"
"Let down a tuck," my grandmother said, decisively. "That would lengthen it."
"Oh, do let down a tuck, mother!" I echoed, eagerly.
I had a little pink envelope hugged up close against my apron. On the outside it had "Miss Rhoda Harcourt" written in very large letters, and on the inside it invited me to a party! I was not quite sure what people did at a party; but I knew it must be something delightful, judging from the commotion the pink envelope made in the family. There was a whirlwind of talk about white dresses, and new slippers, and blue bows, and in the midst of the discussion Auntie May caught up her dress and danced.
"Come here, Rhoda," she called. "This is what they do at a party. Come. I will teach you how."
I braced my back, stiffly, and let her haul me around. This was a serious matter, and must be undertaken with a sober mind.
"She hasn't any spring in her," Auntie May exclaimed, ruefully. "Who would think that she is related to me!"
"She does not come of a dancing family," my grandmother replied, with a cold smile. "The Harcourts look after their souls, and let their feet alone."
Auntie May made a wry face. She was my mother's sister.