"But you'll ask me to your party, won't you?" said she, with a coaxing smile.
"I can't, if I don't have one, Lize Jane."
"You're a-makin' believe, Mag Parlin. You will have one; how can you help it, with a garden full of gooseb'ries and rubub?"
"And thimbleberries, too," added I, surveying the premises with a gloomy eye. We certainly had enough to eat, and it was a very strange thing that I couldn't give a party.
"Has your mother got any cake in the house?" added Lize.
"Yes, lots in the tin chest; but she never lets me eat a speck, hardly," bemoaned I. I was not in the habit of talking to Lize Jane of family matters; but she had shown so much good sense in saying I ought to have a party, that my heart was touched.
"Your mother, seems to me, she never lets you do a thing," returned Lize Jane, in a pitying tone. "Ain't you goin' to have a silk pairsol, like Fel Allen's? I should think you might."
She had driven the nail straight to the mark that time. I could have wailed; but was I going to have Lize Jane go home and tell that I was a baby? No! and I spoke up very pertly,—
"Where's your pairsol, Lize Jane Bean? You never had one any more'n me."
"No; but there's something I have got, though, better than that. Good to eat, too. And I'll tell you what; if you'll ask me to your party, I'll bring you some in a covered dish."