_tell_ you."

"Oh, I'm so sorry! Why did you ask them, William?"

William laughed bitterly.

"Why did I invite them?" he said. "_I_ don't invite people to my
parties. _They_ do that."

In William's vocabulary "they" always signified his immediate family
circle.

William had a strong imagination. When an idea took hold upon his
mind, it was almost impossible for him to let it go. He was quite
accustomed to Joan's adoring homage. The scornful mockery of his
auburn-haired friend was something quite new, and in some strange
fashion it intrigued and fascinated him. Mentally he recalled her
excited little face, flushed with eagerness as she described the
expected spread. Mentally also he conceived a vivid picture of the
long waiting on Christmas Eve, the slowly fading hope, the final
bitter disappointment. While engaging in furious snowball fights with
Ginger, Douglas, and Henry, while annoying peaceful passers-by with
well-aimed snow missiles, while bruising himself and most of his
family black and blue on long and glassy slides along the garden
paths, while purloining his family's clothes to adorn various
unshapely snowmen, while walking across all the ice (preferably
cracked) in the neighbourhood and being several times narrowly rescued
from a watery grave--while following all these light holiday pursuits,
the picture of the little auburn-haired girl's disappointment was ever
vividly present in his mind.

The day of his party drew near.

"_My_ party," he would echo bitterly when anyone of his family
mentioned it. "I don't _want_ it. I don't _want_ ole Johnnie Brent an'
all that lot. I'd just like to un-invite 'em all."

"But you want Ginger and Douglas and Henry," coaxed his Mother.

"I can have them any time an' I don't like 'em at parties. They're not
the same. I don't like _anyone_ at parties. I don't _want_ a party!"

"But you _must_ have a party, William, to ask back people who ask
you."

William took up his previous attitude.

"Well, where's the _sense_ of it?" he groaned.

As usual he had the last word, but left his audience unconvinced. They
began on him a full hour before his guests were due. He was brushed
and scrubbed and scoured and cleaned. He was compressed into an Eton
suit and patent leather pumps and finally deposited in the
drawing-room, cowed and despondent, his noble spirit all but broken.

The guests began to arrive. William shook hands politely with three
strangers shining with soa