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  CHAPTER II

  THE MINISTER'S RECEPTION

  "Are you ready, Cherry?"

  "Almost," came the muffled reply from the stiffly-starched little figuresitting on the floor struggling with a broken shoe-string. "Why, Peace,where are _you_ going?"

  "Where do you s'pose? To the reception, of course," answered that younglady, who had just entered the room, rigged out in an ancient, fadedpink gown which had once been pretty, but was long since outgrown sothat several inches of petticoat hung in display the whole way aroundthe skirt, and the ruffs on the sleeves reached almost to the elbow. Howshe had ever squeezed herself inside the small garment was beyondcomprehension, but there she stood, buttoned up and breathless, readyfor the evening's social event.

  "Did Faith say you could go, and where in creation did you find thatridiculous old dress?" demanded Cherry, after an astonished survey ofthe grotesque figure in the doorway.

  "Faith doesn't have anything to say about it," was the emphatic retort,as the brown eyes snapped indignantly at her sister's criticism. "Didn'tmother promise I could go to the next reception that the church had,and ain't this the next? Faith kept me home from Mr. Kane's farewell,but she can't make me stay away tonight."

  "Gail isn't going--" began Cherry, scenting the storm which was sure tofollow this declaration from her younger sister; but Peace interrupted,"I am going just the same. Mother said I could!"

  "Have you asked her about it today?"

  "No, I haven't. She promised a long time ago, but it was a sure enoughpromise, and she always keeps her promises."

  "But--"

  "There ain't any 'but' about it. I'm going even if I have to walk all bymyself. I'm 'most as big as you. Two years ain't much difference! Faithnever kicks about your going, but she always tries to make me stay athome. She won't this time, though." The shapely little head shook sovigorously that each tight ring of short, brown hair bobbedemphatically.

  "But you _can't_ go in that dress," remonstrated Cherry, still staringat the abbreviated gown and neglecting her own preparations. "It ishardly big enough for Allee any more. You've had that for three or fouryears."

  "It's the only thing I could find. My white one is _all_ worn out, andthat ugly green gingham has a long tear on the side which Gail hasn'tmended yet."

  "But what will Faith say when she sees that rig? Why, Peace, it looksawful!"

  "I should say it did!" exclaimed a second voice from the hallway, andFaith, a tall, brown-eyed girl of about fifteen years, entered the door."What in the world do you think you are doing, Peace Greenfield?"

  Peace blinked her somber eyes vigorously, for tears were very near thesurface, but she swallowed back the lump in her throat and calmlyanswered, "I'm getting ready for the reception, same as you."

  "Indeed you're not! Gail isn't going, and you can stay right here athome with her and Allee."

  "That's what I did the last time, but you don't play that trick on metonight. Mother said I could go to the next reception, and I am going."

  "She didn't mean this kind of a reception, and you can't go."

  "I will, I will! Oh, you are the crossest sister!" cried poor Peace,with tears of vexation streaming down over her cheeks. "You _always_spoil my good times! You _never_ make Cherry stay at home--"

  "She is older--"

  "Two years ain't much!"

  "She knows how to behave herself."

  "So do I! I'll be as good as gold--"

  "I've taken you on that promise before."

  "Oh, Oh, Oh! I will go! I'm going straight to mother and ask her now."

  "Mother is worse tonight and can't be bothered. Stop your yelling, orshe will hear you."

  "I want her to hear! I shall go! She said I might!" The storm was on inall its fury.

  "Hush!" interposed Cherry, running to her sobbing sister and trying tosoothe her wild rebellion with gentle caresses. "I will stay home withyou, Peace. I don't care much about going, anyway."

  "You can stay at home if you want to," declared the small rebel withemphasis, "but _I_ am going!"

  "Children, children, what is all this racket about?" asked a gentle,grieved voice, suddenly, and the shamed-faced trio wheeled to find thepale, little, invalid mother standing in their midst.

  "Oh, mother, mayn't I go? Faith says I can't, but you promised me whenMr. Kane went away that I could go to the next reception if I would makeno more fuss about not going to his."

  "So I did, dear--"

  "But a reception for a new minister is no place for such little girls,mother," broke in Faith, petulantly.

  "The 'nouncements said to bring the _babies_"--involuntarily the mothersmiled and the other sisters giggled. "I am lots bigger than a baby--"

  "You don't act it--"

  "Faith!" The mother's face was as reproving as her voice, and the oldergirl's cheeks flushed crimson as she murmured humbly, "I am sorry,mother; but really, she does say such awful things. She is alwaystalking. And just look at that dress!"

  "I thought it would be pretty--" began Peace, but at that moment shecaught sight of her reflection in the mirror, and stopped so abruptly,with such a comical look of dismay and despair in her eyes, that thewhole group burst out laughing. Peace joined in their merriment, andthen soberly said, "I look like a chicken when the down is turning tofeathers. What can I do about it? I _can't_ stay at home!"

  "Where is your green dress?"

  "Gail hasn't mended it yet."

  Faith saw her opportunity and immediately compromised. "Peace, if I mendyour dress for you so you can go, will you sit perfectly still all theevening and never say a word until you are spoken to?"

  "Yes, oh, yes, I'll promise!"

  The mother opened her lips to speak, but thought better of it, and witha smile in her eyes, withdrew, leaving the children to their finalpreparations.

  At length the torn dress was neatly mended and buttoned on the wrigglingowner, the bright curls were given a second brushing and tied back witha band of pink ribbon from Faith's own treasures, and the sisters wereon their way to the mother's room for a good-bye kiss when a fourthgirl, looking very sweet in a fresh, blue gingham, rushed excitedly upthe stairs and demanded, "Where did you say you put the cake, Faith?Gail can't find it."

  "Why, it's on the wash-bench under the pantry window, covered up withthe big dishpan."

  "There is nothing under the dishpan but an empty plate."

  "Hope! You are fooling!"

  "Cross my heart and hope to die," was the solemn answer. "Gail lookedand I looked. She says somebody must have stolen it."

  "The tramp!" cried Faith and Cherry in one voice.

  "Bet he didn't!" declared Peace, who had stood open-mouthed and silentduring Hope's recital. "I gave him a great big lunch and--and somematches to make some more with--"

  "Yes," said Faith, bitterly grieved over the loss of the cake, "and kepthim hanging around here all the morning, till we thought he never wasgoing. I suppose he took the cake for his dinner."

  "I don't believe it! But he did weed those flower beds beau--ti--fully!"cried Peace, championing his cause. "And he strung Hope's vines just aseven! And the lawn is all mowed, and there ain't a sprill of grass leftin the onion patch, and the rain barrel is fixed up and the back step ismended, and--did he stop up the leaks in the hen house? I told him justwhere they were."

  "Perhaps you told him to pay for his breakfast, too," suggested theolder girl, sarcastically. "We found a half dollar under his cup afterhe was gone."

  "A sure-enough half dollar?" asked Peace, too astonished to believe herears.

  "Yes, a sure-enough half dollar!"

  "Where is it? I want to see it for myself."

  "On the pantry shelf. Gail thought he might have left it there bymistake and would come back after it. But I don't."

  "Maybe he left it to pay for taking the cake," suggested Allee, who hadjoined the excited group in the hall.

  "He never took the cake," Peace asserted stoutly. "But I don't think hewill ever come back for
his money, either. He wouldn't have left it inthe dishes if he hadn't meant it for us. His clothes had pockets inthem, same as any other man's, and if he had any money, he would havekept it there and not carried it around in his hands. Wish he would comeback, though. I'd ask him about the cake, just to show you he never tookit."

  "See here, Peace Greenfield," cried Faith, with sudden suspicion, "doyou know where that cake is?"

  "No, I don't! How should I know? But I don't believe that tramp took it.So there!"

  "I don't believe he was even a tramp. Suppose he was a bad man, who haddone something terrible, and the police were after him--"

  "Yes, or s'pose he was a prince," Peace broke in, remembering herconversation with the gray, old man. "He might be one for all we know,but he didn't look like a bad man."

  "Suppose we stop supposing," laughed Hope, "and all hunt for the cake.Someone may have hid it just for fun. We've half an hour before wereally must go to the church."

  "I don't care to go at all if that cake is gone," declared Faith,crossly. "Mrs. Wardlaw will begin to think I am lying to get out ofhelping with refreshments if I have to make excuses again tonight."

  "But you're on the program," protested the smaller girls.

  "I guess maybe we will find it somewhere," said Hope. "Come on andhelp." And they scattered in their search for the missing loaf.

  But, though they looked high and low, indoors and out, not a trace couldthey find of it, except the clean, empty plate under the dishpan; and indespair Peace climbed to her gatepost to ponder the question of whethertramp and cake had disappeared together or whether some local agent wasthe cause of its vanishing. "If it had been a nanimal," she said,thoughtfully, "it would have knocked the dishpan off the bench andbroken the plate. It must have been a person. I'd think it was HecAbbott, only--mercy! What in the world is this? Money! Sure as I'malive!" Scrambling down from her perch, she raced for the house,shouting, "Gail, Faith, look what I've found, hitched to the gatepost!"

  The five sisters ran to meet her, and into Gail's hand she thrust acrumpled, green scrap.

  "Ten dollars!" gasped the astonished girl, examining the dingy bill withexcited curiosity. "Someone must have lost it--"

  "And pinned it to the gatepost so's we could find it?" demanded Peace."Well, I guess not! Bet that tramp left it. He surely must be a prince.What shall you do with it, Gail?"

  "Show it to mother and ask her advice," promptly answered the oldestgirl, smiling down at the excited group of sisters; and they hurriedaway to the house with the precious find--all but Peace.

  A wild, daring thought had suddenly sprung into her active brain, and asher sisters vanished within doors, she flew madly up the road throughthe summer twilight towards the little village, clasping a shining halfdollar tightly in her fist. In a surprisingly short time she returned,breathless but triumphant, bearing a huge paper sack in her arms, justas an anxious group came around the corner of the house.

  "Peace! Where have you been?" cried Gail in relief, as the panting formflew in at the gate.

  "We've been hunting all over the farm for you," added Faith, severely.

  "Thought you might be searching for some more money," laughed Hope.

  "What's in that big bag?" demanded Cherry.

  "Cakes!" gasped Peace, proudly. "Faith said Mrs. Waddler would be nastyif we didn't take something to eat this time, so I spent the tramp'shalf dollar for some of those marshmallow cakes with nuts on top. Theyare dandy good, and they cost a lot, but they weigh light, so you get abig bag full for fifty cents. Not many people have money enough to buythem very often, and Mrs. Waddler can't say a word about our bringingthem instead of a cake. Have one, Gail and Allee, 'cause you aren'tgoing to the reception. And take one up to mother. Maybe she'd likethem, too."

  "But, Peace," Faith began, sharply, then stopped at a warning glancefrom Gail, and with sudden gentleness she took the bulky sack from thesmall sister's arms and started off for the church where the receptionwas to be held.

  They were somewhat late in arriving, and the little building was alreadywell filled with a laughing, light-hearted crowd, gathered to welcomethe new minister into their midst. Glancing hastily about her, Faith sawone empty chair in a dim corner, and pointing it out to Peace, she said,"Sit down over there, and remember not to talk except when you arespoken to. Above everything else, don't get to romping. Hope and Cherryare to help Miss Dunbar pass the cake, so they are needed in thekitchen. Remember, now!"

  "Yes, I will," was the unusually meek reply, and Peace obediently curledherself up in the corner to watch proceedings, thankful to be one of thegay company, but wistfully wishing that she might join in themerrymaking. It wasn't so bad when the program hour came, for everyonesat down then and listened quietly to the music and speeches, but it wasvery lonely in the dim recess, where Peace was almost hidden from sight,and she longed to have someone to talk to. Everyone was so busyintroducing themselves to the young minister and his pretty, sprightlylittle wife, or gossiping among themselves, that no one paid anyattention to the somber, brown eyes peering so eagerly from the corner.

  "Oh, dear," sighed Peace at length, "I might as well have stayed at homelike Faith said, for not a single soul has said a word to me since Icame in, and I don't s'pose I will even get a chance to speak to the newminister. My, but he's got an awfully pretty wife! Wish she would smileat me like that. There come the 'freshments. Like as not they'll skipme, off here by myself. If Cherry forgets, I'll shake her good when Iget home. A piece of cake is dry eating when all the rest have lemonade,but I'd rather have that than nothing. There, that man is going to playagain--Faith is pulling out the stops of the organ. Doesn't he lookfunny?"

  She laughed aloud at a sudden ludicrous fancy, and her laugh was echoedso close beside her that she nearly jumped out of her chair. Recoveringherself, she whirled around to find the strong-faced young pastorlooking down at her.

  "What do you find so funny to laugh at, hid away here in this darkcorner?" he asked, in a cheery, hearty voice, as he drew up an old stooland sat down beside her.

  And, forgetting her fright in the friendly glance and tone of this newpreacher, Peace giggled out, "I was just thinking s'posing we were allgrasshoppers, how funny we'd look hopping around here instead ofwalking. We'd have to shake feet instead of hands, and if we wanted togo across the room all we'd have to do would be to take a big jump."

  For a fraction of a second the minister was dumb with amazement at theunexpected answer; then he threw back his head and laughed uproariously,as he gasped, "What ever put such a thought in that little noddle?"

  "That man with the big fiddle," was the prompt reply. "Doesn't he looklike a grasshopper with that long-tailed coat and all that shirt front?If he just had feelers on his head, he'd be perfect. Don't you thinkso?"

  Again the young man laughed, for Peace's picture was not overdrawn--thetall, angular cellist in evening dress certainly did resemble agrasshopper. But, of course, it would never do for him to say so, and hesought to turn this unusual conversation by inquiring, "Aren't you oneof the Greenfield girls? You look amazingly like two or three who havebeen introduced to me this evening. Isn't the organist a sister ofyours?"

  "Yes, that's Faith."

  "And the blue-eyed one just coming in the door?"

  "That's Hope."

  "And there is a third one here somewhere, is there not?"

  "Yes, Cherry. Her real name is Charity, but that is such a long name fora little girl that we call her Cherry."

  He smiled at the diminutive maiden with her grown-up air, and saidmusingly, "Faith, Hope and Charity. Then you must be Mercy."

  "Oh, mercy, no!" was the horrified exclamation. "That would be worsethan ever! I am Peace. Faith says I ought to have been called 'War andTribulation'--it would have been more 'propriate; but I am not to blamefor my name, if it doesn't fit. I would have been something else if I'dhad my way about it. Unless babies are named pretty names I think theirfolks ought to wait until they can pick out their own names. Gra
ndpanamed me--all of us but Gail and Allee. If I just hadn't been born fortwo weeks longer maybe I'd have had a pretty name, too, for grandpa diedwhen I was only thirteen days old. You see, grandpa was a minister--papaused to be a minister, too--and he never had any other children butpapa, so he didn't get a chance to do much naming in his own family.Papa named Gail; her real name is Abigail. And then grandpa came to livewith us. He liked Bible names, so the rest of us were picked out of theBible--except Allee, and she wasn't born then. Mamma named her."

  She paused for breath, and the amused, amazed preacher found opportunityto murmur, politely, "But I am sure you all have good names--"

  "Oh, yes, they are good enough! The trouble is, they don't fit, exceptHope's. She is our sunbeam, always doing and saying something pretty,and _meaning_ it, too. Now, Gail isn't a gale at all, but just thebestest kind of a sister; while Faith is usu'lly cross as two sticksunless things go just as she wants them; and Cherry doesn't stand aroundon corners d'livering _tracks_ and worn-out clo's to the needy poor,like Charity always does in the pictures. But mine is the worst misfit.Still, I'm thankful it isn't any worse. Just s'posing I had Irene for amiddle name--that's my favorite, and Olive is Hope's choice--then my'nitials would have spelled P. I. G. and hers H. O. G.; and the schoolchildren would never have called us anything else. I know, 'cause theycall Nort Thomas Nettie. His whole name is Norton Edwin Thomas, but healways signed his 'nitials on his 'rithmetic papers, and the boys tookto calling him Nettie. It makes it all the worse 'cause he is a regularsissy boy. Have you got any children?"

  "No."

  "Well, I s'pose you will have some day, and if I was you, I'd name themsomething pretty, or else wait till they got big enough to choose forthemselves. And whatever you do, don't let your church people raise'em."

  "Wh--at?"

  "That's just what they'll _try_ to do. They did with our family, andwhen they got us all spoiled, they said we were the worst children intown--that ministers' children always were. Why, Mrs. Waddler--her nameis Wardlaw, but she is so big and fat that I call her Waddler--that'sher over there feeding cake to that scrap of a man--he's herhusband--well, she told Mrs. Grinnell once that I was possessed of sevendevils. I asked mother what that meant, and she was dreadfully mad. Ittakes a lot to make mother mad, too. When we first moved here to Parker,Mrs. Wardlaw thought I was the cutest little girl she had ever seen--shetold me so lots of times--but she doesn't any more. Now she says I am ahoy-ena--no, that isn't the word. It means tomboy, anyway. That is whatMr. Hardman calls me, too. He's the _imbecile_ who lives on the farmnext to our place."

  "The wh--at?"

  "Well, he is! He says so himself. He doesn't b'long to any church, andhardly ever goes, and he says r'ligion is all tommyrot."

  "Oh, you mean infidel," suggested the pastor, trying hard not to laughagain.

  "Maybe. His name is really Hartman. I nicknamed him 'cause he won't letus have the hazelnuts in his pasture, and he stole my petchicken,--leastwise, he let it stay in his flock so now I can't coax itback; and he chased us out of his apple trees one day when we were justclimbing after one pretty red one way up high out of reach. We did knockoff quite a few, but we never meant to carry them off with us. Hedoesn't like girls, and says if he had a family of six like us, he'd--"

  "Are you six girls all there are?"

  "Isn't that enough? Seems to me it's a pretty big family. When I waslittle, Cherry and me used to pray that the angels would never bring anymore babies to our family, 'cause the pieces of pie were getting awfullylittle, and, of course, they got littler every time there was anotherbaby. But they brought us Allee anyway. That was just after mother'sonliest uncle died and left her some money, and she made papa take itand buy our farm and bring us out here to live after he had been sick along, long time with _tryfoid_ fever, and had lost all his prettyhair."

  "Didn't you say your papa was a minister?"

  "I said he used to be."

  "What is he now?"

  "An angel."

  "Oh!"

  "You see, papa went right on acting like a preacher even after the badpeople in Pendennis made him sick; and when Old Skinflint--I mean Mr.Skinner--most folks call him deacon, but I guess it's just 'cause he isso different from a truly deacon, and is always blaming the Lord foreverything that happens--well, when he got cold and had pneumonia, papahelped take care of him. The deacon is so ugly that hardly anyone elsewould have anything to do with him; and one rainy night papa was soakedgoing up to Skinner's house, and he had to sit up 'most of the night ina cold room, 'cause the deacon wouldn't have anyone in his room wherethe fire was. So papa caught cold, too, and he never got well. Theangels came and carried him away."

  "Oh!"

  "Yes, and I heard Mrs. Abbott tell a lady one day that she thoughtmother would soon be an angel, too. Do you s'pose she will?" The big,brown eyes had suddenly grown wide with fear, and Peace piteouslysearched the strong face above her for some comforting assurance.

  Just a moment he hesitated, and then answered, tenderly, "We shall allbe angels some day if we are good."

  "Oh, mamma is good as gold! But two sure-enough angels in one family istoo many, 'specially when it's the mother and father. Don't you thinkso?"

  Poor man! What could he say? But at that moment came a timelyinterruption in the shape of Miss Dunbar with a huge platter loaded withglasses of lemonade; and as she spied the two figures in the littlerecess, she exclaimed, "Why, Mr. Strong, we've been hunting all over thebuilding for you. What an effective screen those brakes and columbinesmake! None of us thought of finding you here. Peace, you are very quietthis evening. Would you like some lemonade? Have you had refreshments,Mr. Strong? The committee is looking for you to make arrangements forSunday's meetings."

  "I will be there in a moment, Miss Dunbar. Good-night, little Peace, Isee your sisters beckoning to you. When the parsonage is ship-shape Iwant you to come and see us. Will you?"

  "You bet!" was the prompt and emphatic reply, as Peace skipped happilyaway to join her sisters, forgetting, in her gladness, that neither Hopenor Charity had brought her any cake to eat with her lemonade.