"She's as pretty as inny lady's child of them all," thought her mother; "an' as gintle an' good." But aloud she said, decidedly:
"Honey, you're talkin' nonsinse. I've hard work enough to kape us both in bread an' mate, let alone clothes, widout givin' parties for you. Ice-crame an' cake, indade! It's a nigger waiter you'll be wantin' nixt, to be openin' the door for your stylish frinds," she went on, chuckling, as she wrung out one of Mrs. Ray's embroidered white skirts.
"Oh, mother, I know you couldn't give me such a party. But I thought I might have just a few little frinds in to play wid me, an' we'd have some crackers, an' some ginger cookies maybe; and thim two pinnies you gave me would buy candy an' nuts. An' if—"
"An' who do you want to invite, may I ax?" said the mother, trying not to laugh.
"Oh, mother, if I could ask poor little Jim Swaney, the boy what lives acrost the way—he's lame, you know; an' little Annie his sister. They're so poor, an' the father gets drunk, an' bates thim awful. I'd like thim to have a good time for onst."
"Bliss your little heart!" said the mother; "you shall have thim in an' wilcome, an' I'll buy some cookies to trate thim wid, and maybe something besides. But don't you ask another child in this neighborhood; they're a bould, bad set, as you know, and it's sorry I am we have to live in the midst of thim."
"No, mother, I won't; but I do wish I could ax some of the girls I go to school wid. There's Sally Flynn, and Jenny Dean, an' Mary Connor, and Ann Gormly, an' Kitty Fay, an'—"
"Saints presarve us!" cried Mrs. Keaney. "Do you want to bring all New York in on me? No, no, honey, I can't affoord such a party as that. Be off to school now, like a good child, and don't bother me no more."
But the pleading face of her little girl, the only child she had, haunted Mary Keaney, and when, later in the day, some unexpected work arrived from a lady to whom Mrs. Ray had recommended her, she resolved at once to gratify her darling.