I said nothing, but I remember I thought Mrs. Bean was a queer woman, to want our very last currants.
"Sh'an't you have your party before they're all gone?" said Lize Jane.
"What party?"
"Why, the one you're going to have."
I suppose she knew my heart was aching for one.
"I want a party dreffully," said I, "but mamma won't let me."
"Won't let you?" cried Lize Jane, in surprise. "Why, Fel Allen had hers last week."
"I know it, and Tempy Ann made us some lemonade."
"Did she? I wish I'd been there," said Lize, pursing her lips. "But Fel lives in such a monstrous nice house, and wouldn't ask me to her party; that's why. Mother says I hadn't oughter care, though, for when she dies she'll lay as low as me."
I did not understand this speech of Mrs. Bean's, which Lize Jane repeated with such a solemn snap of her black eyes; but it came to me years afterwards, and I think it the worst teaching a mother could give her little child. No wonder Lize Jane was full of envy and spite.