“Aunt Jo likes to have the boys play with us, if they are not rough; so we must make them like our balls, then they will do them good,” said Daisy, with her maternal air, as she set the table and surveyed the store of refreshments with an anxious eye.
“Demi and Nat will be good, but Tommy will do something bad, I know he will,” replied Nan, shaking her head over the little cake-basket which she was arranging.
“Then I shall send him right home,” said Daisy, with decision.
“People don’t do so at parties, it isn’t proper.”
“I shall never ask him any more.”
“That would do. He’d be sorry not to come to the dinner-ball, wouldn’t he?”
“I guess he would! we’ll have the splendidest things ever seen, won’t we? Real soup with a ladle and a tureem [she meant tureen] and a little bird for turkey, and gravy, and all kinds of nice vegytubbles.” Daisy never could say vegetables properly, and had given up trying.
“It is ’most three, and we ought to dress,” said Nan, who had arranged a fine costume for the occasion, and was anxious to wear it.
“I am the mother, so I shan’t dress up much,” said Daisy, putting on a night-cap ornamented with a red bow, one of her aunt’s long skirts, and a shawl; a pair of spectacles and a large pocket handkerchief completed her toilette, making a plump, rosy little matron of her.
Nan had a wreath of artificial flowers, a pair of old pink slippers, a yellow scarf, a green muslin skirt, and a fan made of feathers from the duster; also, as a last touch of elegance, a smelling-bottle without any smell in it.