I went into the sitting-room. There was mother on the sofa, bathing her head with cologne. It didn't seem much like having a party! She could eat no dinner, and father said she looked as if she ought to be in bed.
"I feel almost sick enough to be in bed," said she; "but I must help Mrs. Duffy put down that parlor carpet. I have waited for her ever since the carpet was made, and this was the very first day she could come."
"O, dear," thought I, "where'll I have my party?"
"Can't Mrs. Duffy put the carpet down alone?" asked father.
"No; she would skew it badly."
"But, my dear, you are sick; why not have Ruth help her?"
"Ruth does not understand the business as well as I do; and more than that, we have a large quantity of raspberries to be made into jelly. They would spoil if they were kept over Sunday."
Worse and worse! Who was going to get supper for my party?
Then I remembered that wonderful something which Lize Jane had promised to bring in the covered dish,—that delicious mystery which had been the first cause of getting me into trouble. Perhaps there would be enough of it to go round, and we could finish off with cake. I began to think it wasn't much matter what we had to eat.
While life lasts I shall never forget that horrible afternoon. What could I say? What could I do? I felt as Horace used to, as if I should "go a-flyin'." I ran into the parlor where mother and Mrs. Duffy were putting down the carpet, and hopped about till I got a tack in my foot; and after mother had drawn it out, and I had done crying, I ventured to say,—