CHAPTER IV.
LIZE JANE.
But my happiness did not last long. Grandpa Harrington never thoughtof my parasol again from that day to the day he died; and little witchand try-patience though I was, I dared not remind him of his promise,still less tell my mother about it.
It was hard to have my hopes raised so high, only to be dashed tothe ground; harder still to have to keep it all to myself, and see Feltrip along under that sunshade without a care in the world. If she hadbeen the least bit proud I couldn't have borne it; but even as it was,it wore upon me. Once I called out in severe tones, "Ho, littlelie-girl; got a pairsol too!" but was so ashamed of it next minutethat I ran up to her and hugged her right in the street, and said, "Ididn't mean the leastest thing. I love you jus' the same, if you_have_ got a blue pairsol, and you may wear it to meetin', and I'll_try_ not to care."
And now I come to the naughty story.
I could not always have Fel for a playmate; she was too delicate tobe racing about from morning till night as I did, and when she had tostay in the house, I found other girls to romp with me. Sometimes,especially if I felt rather wicked, I enjoyed Eliza Jane Bean, a girltwo or three years older than myself. There was a bad fascinationabout "Lize." When she fixed her big black eyes upon you, she made youthink of all sorts of delightful things you wanted to do, only theywere strictly forbidden. Her father and mother were not very goodpeople, and did not go to church Sundays. They lived in a low redhouse near the Gordons. You never saw it, children; it was pulled downever so long ago, and used for kindlings. People called the house "theBean Pod," because there were nine little beans in it beside the bigones. Rattlety bang! Harum scarum! There was always a great noise inthat house, and people called it "the rattling of the beans." It waswell it stood on a corner lot, and poor old Mr. Gordon was so deaf.
Lize Jane used to come to our house for currants. My mamma did notlike to have me see much of her, but could not refuse the currants,for our bushes were loaded. It seemed as if the family must have livedhalf the summer on currants and molasses; for almost every night therewas Lize Jane with her big tin pail. It had holes in the bottom, andthe juice used to run out sometimes upon her dress; but it didn't makemuch difference, for her dress was never clean.
One night she came for currants when they were almost gone. Mother hadbeen sick, and was very late about making jelly. She told Eliza Janeshe couldn't let her come any more after that night; the rest of thefruit must be saved for our own use. Lize Jane said nothing, but sherolled her black eyes round towards me, and I felt a little ashamed,for I knew she thought mother was stingy, and that was why she rolledher eyes.
I went into the kitchen, and said to Ruth,--
"Don't you want me to pick you a bowl of currants?"
Of course she did. She didn't know Lize Jane was there, or shewouldn't have been so pleased and so ready to get me my sun-bonnet.She had to reach it down from a hook in the ceiling. That was theplace where Ned hung it when he wanted to "pester" me; he did it withan old rake handle.
When I was going anywhere to meet Lize Jane, I always felt as if Iwas stealing raisins. I never exactly stole raisins; but when mymother said I might go to the box and get two or three, I hadsometimes taken a whole handful. I knew by the pricking of myconscience that that was wrong, and in the same way I knew that thiswas wrong too. Mother was in the green chamber, covering an ottomanwith green carpeting, so she wouldn't see me from that side of thehouse.
I ran into the garden, and, going up close to Lize Jane, began to pickwith all my might. "My bowl fills up faster 'n your pail," said I."Cause its littler," said she; "and besides, I'm picking 'em off thestems."
"What do you do that for, Lize Jane? It takes so long."
"I know it; it takes foreverlastin'; but mother told me to, so'st Icould get more into my pail."
I opened my eyes.
"She told me to get my pail chuck full. She didn't use to care, butnow the currants are most gone, and she wants all she can get."
I said nothing, but I remember I thought Mrs. Bean was a queerwoman, 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 hadhers 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. "ButFel lives in such a monstrous nice house, and wouldn't ask me to herparty; that's why. Mother says I hadn't oughter care, though, for whenshe dies she'll lay as low as me."
I did not understand this speech of Mrs. Bean's, which Lize Janerepeated with such a solemn snap of her black eyes; but it came to meyears afterwards, and I think it the worst teaching a mother couldgive her little child. No wonder Lize Jane was full of envy and spite.
"But you'll ask me to _your_ party, won't you?" said she, with acoaxing 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 youhelp it, with a garden full of gooseb'ries and rubub?"
"And thimbleberries, too," added I, surveying the premises with agloomy eye. We certainly had enough to eat, and it was a very strangething 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 offamily matters; but she had shown so much good sense in saying I oughtto have a party, that my heart was touched.
"Your mother, seems to me, she never lets you do a thing," returnedLize 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 havewailed; but was I going to have Lize Jane go home and tell that I wasa baby? No! and I spoke up very pertly,--
"Where's _your_ pairsol, Lize Jane Bean? You never had one any more 'nme."
"No; but there's something I have got, though, better than that. Goodto 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."
"What is it, Lize? Ice cream?"
For her face was wondrous sweet.
"Ice cream! How'd you s'pose I kep' that froze? No!" and thebewitching sparkle of her eye called up luscious ideas. I could almostsee apricot preserves, pine apples, and honey-heart cherries floatingin the air. But why was it a covered dish? "Somethin' nuff sightbetter 'n ice cream, but I shan't tell what."
"O, I wish you'd bring it to me in the covered dish, 'thout anyparty, for my mother won't let me have one, Lize, now truly."
"Then you can't have the--what I was goin' to bring," said Lize Jane,firmly.
"That's too bad," I cried; but it was of no use talking; she couldn'tbe moved any more than the gravel walk, or the asparagus bed.
"Your mother ain't much sick, is she?"
"Not now," replied I; "her strength is better."
"Well, then, why don't you ask some girls to come, and she'll get 'emsome supper; see if she don't."
I was so shocked that I almost fell into a currant bush.
"Lize Jane Bean, what you talking about?"
"Why, you said your mother warn't sick."
"No, her strength is better, but she don't 'low me to do things, LizeJane Bean, 'thout--'thout she lets me."
"Of course not; but I guess she don't know you want a party sodreadful bad, Maggie, or she _would_ let you. I don't believe yourmother is ugly."
"But she never said I might have a party, though."
"No, for she don't think about it. She ain't a bad woman, your motherain't, only she don't think. Your mother don't _mean_ to be ugly."
Lize Jane spok
e in a large-hearted way, at the same time strippingcurrant-stems very industriously. "She'd feel glad afterwards,s'posing you _did_ have a party, I'll bet."
"O, Lize Jane, what a girl! 's if I'd do it 'thout my mother said Imight."
"O, I didn't mean a real big party; did you s'pose I did? I didn'tknow but you could ask me and some of the girls to supper, and notcall it a party. We'd play ou' doors."
"O, I didn't know _that's_ what you meant. But Ican't,--'cause,--'cause."--
"Well, you needn't, if you don't want to; but I didn't know but you'dlike to see that--what I's going to bring."
"But I can't be naughty, and get tied to the bed-post," said I,thoughtfully. "Is that what you's going to bring, something I neversaw in all my life, Lize Jane?"
"Yes, I'm certain sure you never."
And she made up another delicious face, that filled the air aroundwith sweet visions.
"And would you bring it if I didn't ask but--but--two girls?"
"No, I don't _think_ I could," replied Lize Jane, squinting her eyesin deep meditation. "I don't hardly think I _could_; but if you hadfour girls I'd bring it, and _risk_ it."
"Four 'thout you?"
"No, me 'n three more, if you're so dreadful scared."
That settled the matter. With my usual rashness I cried out,--
"Well, I'll ask 'em."