biggest dummy in the
world--'Why, Kittie, don't you see it yet?' and I don't see it any more
than ink in the dark, but I'm ashamed, so I pretend that I do, and
that's the way it always is," and Kittie cried despairingly.

"How the cheerfulness increases," laughed Ernestine, jumping up. "I'm
going down stairs, and I sha'n't come up again until I can say something
that will please you all. By-by," and away she went, nodding brightly.

The morning wore slowly away. Jean, with a pain in her back, lay in
Bea's arms until she fell asleep again; then after laying her down,
Beatrice went back to her sewing, made patient and penitent by contact
with that frail, peaceful little sister, and, after viewing her
unmanageable puff determinedly for a few minutes, saw her mistake, and
immediately went to work and finished it with no trouble. Kat, after
much grumbling, finally brought her tooth to comparative submission, and
went to sleep, while Kittie fled from the field of fractions, and spent
her morning in the swing, which hung in the shed.

Just before dinner, the door-bell rang, and in a minute Ernestine came
flying up stairs.

"There," she cried, waving a tinted paper. "I've something to please you
with. Just listen:--'Mrs. Richards would be pleased to see Miss Dering,
Miss Ernestine and Miss Olive for tea next Wednesday Eve!' I expect
they'll dance. Won't it be fun?"

"I don't see any use of your waking me up, I'm not invited;" exclaimed
Kat, sinking back on to her pillow, when she found that she was not
included in the coming bliss.

"I hope you didn't expect it, only a child," said Ernestine, as Bea took
the magic paper in great delight.

"Child, indeed!" cried Kat. "I'm tall as you."

"More's the pity, for you're only twelve, and as wild as a boy."

"I don't care; I'm going if mama says so; can't I Bea?"

"Why no; Mrs. Richards didn't ask you."

"What's the difference? She likes me just as well as she does you and
would be just as glad to see me."

"Of course; but girls of twelve are never invited out in the evening,"
expostulated Bea, re-reading the delightful invitation, for events were
rare in Canfield, and then it was so nice to be called "Miss Dering."

"I don't care, I think it's real mean!" and Kat vented her resentment by
punching her pillow into a helpless knot.

"Go, call Olive, Ernestine," continued Bea, all smiles and complacency;
"and just say, by the way, that you're sorry you hurt her feelings; i