Grace came in the dress which she had worn to dinner and was sent back by Isabel for a kimono. “Nobody can come without a wedding garment,” cried she, picking up a last piece of oiled paper to tuck in the waste basket, and bringing a cushion for the wooden box, which she had set on end. “Come one, come all!”
“All right, kiddie,” said Grace, looking around with amusement at the gay garments, “I’ll be glad enough to get into one.”
“Now excuse me just a minute while I read my letter. I can’t wait any longer. I was not expecting to find one in the box or I would have unpacked it before. You can pass the candy and pickles again, girls, as an appetizer. Grace will be back in a minute.”
So Hilary ran into the bedroom, carrying her precious birthday letter with its words of praise for past days and blessings and good cheer for the days to come. She also opened a second package from Aunt Hilary, taking out a silk workbag, all fitted out with scissors, new thimble and all the accessories. “Look, girls,” she said, going back to her guests, “this is one thing that we did not get ready last summer. I brought my old work box.”
Such exclamations as there had been when each guest had caught sight of the table. Betty Barnes, perched on the wooden box, shook her head when asked to take a more comfortable seat. “Thank you, this is so handy to the table!” With her little slippered feet she beat a tattoo against the boards as she ate the pickle for which Hilary well knew each girl’s mouth would water. Betty was in high spirits and all the girls in gay humor. In a few minutes Avalon and Cathalina arrived with the steaming kettle of cocoa, and after some skirmishing around for the proper number of cups, plates and paper napkins, the feast began, much later than planned, but as the girls all said, the later the better!
CHAPTER XI
AT HILARY’S SPREAD
Smiling faces and figures with the grace and freedom of youth made the small room seem very cosy and full of good cheer. It was remarkable how, in spite of the disappearance of food, conversation never flagged. In fact, it often occurred that several were talking at once.
“Mother wrote,” said Hilary, “that our good friend, uncle Andy Short,—everybody calls him ‘Uncle’—brought in the chickens all ready, dressed and wouldn’t take a cent. He said ‘I don’t suppose those girls ever get a good square meal there.’ He just adores Father and heard in some way about the birthday box.”
“How grand to be a minister’s daughter!”
“Dear Uncle Andy!”