“Well, that's cool,” whispered Marie-Celeste, concealed by the curtain, and yet near enough to hear all that was said through the open window.
“Who asked you?” queried Donald.
“Dat's de only trouble, Donald; dey didn't ask me,” his little face growing sorely worried as he spoke; “but I guess it was a mistake, don't you?”
“I shouldn't wonder,” for the little fellow's aggrieved look was really piteous to see; “but how did you get permission to go, Albert?”
“Oh, I jus' told mamma you were all doin', and I jus' begged and begged till she said I could do too; and, Donald, I didn't zackly tell her I wasn't invited, 'cause I knowed it must be a mistake.”
“Bless his heart!” whispered Harold, who was also listening by this time under screen of the curtain.
“The cunning thing!” said Marie-Celeste; and so it was easy to see that two hard hearts were slowly but surely relenting.
“Perhaps dey tought I was too little, but I'm not, Donald, really; I can walk all day an' carry my own coat an' basket. Besides, I don't believe Harold will ever have anudder Knight-of-de-Garter day, do you?”
“No; now's your chance, I guess,” said Donald kindly, slipping a great purple and yellow pansy into one of the buttonholes of Albert's little frilled shirt as he spoke.
“Where are de children, anyway?” asked Albert, wonderfully reassured by Donald's courteous reception; “won't you fin' dem for me, please, Donald, and tell dem I won't be a badder, nor ask queshuns, and I'll jus' eat my own lunch and—”