Maryland independent. [volume] (Port Tobacco, Md.) 1874-current, 1889-03-22
THE DINNER PARTY. \
BY EMMA A. oPPER.

- A@AAHAt n OIIEhs
"You'll come, won't you, my dcar?i
said Mrs. Bostwick, adjusting her velvet
wrap as she arose, the long jets on hel
dress jingling softly. "There will be
only ourselves and my future SON law,
Mr.. Gilman, and Mr.. Samson, our pas
tor, and Evelinc Gordon and her broth
er. Just an informal little dinner. I'll
send tho carriage for you; you mustn't
fail me-"
"And she called her lunch party last
month Just simple little affair, +" said
Jessie, sitting down on stool at her
grandmothor's feet, when she had gone
land then how l felt in my old brown
cashmere, among the satins aud the dia-
mondsi And I've nothing but my poor
old pink thing for this. | oughtnt to
keep it up, grandma She's very kind,
of course, but because she was friend
OF Aunt Mary's isn't any reason why She
should try to get Aunt Marys poor lit
lie niece into society. And | can't az
ford it; and it would be easier for me IL
Mrs. Bostwick would stop inviting M
don't know why she docsls
Grasdmn, smiling DOWN Il :
gentle grand daughter whom she had
brought up, thought she knew.
Even beyond Mrs. Bostwieb's un-
doubted kindness of heart there we're
obvious reasons. An uneommonly
bright and pretty girl was an attraction
and addition in anybody's parlor and at
anybody's table.
'Keep on if you enjoy it, dear, said
grandma, kindly.
"rll go tonight, because I've prom
ised; and then I'm going to tell Mrs
Bostwick, said Jessie, bravely, othat
can't afford it. f"
She was a sensible girl, and she felt
no regret for the decision, not even when
she stood before her glass, that evening,
in the sold pink thing looking her
prettiest and feeling her brightest.
The flowers at her corsagc had cost
more than she could well afford, and the
bugled ruching crushed by her round
chin had taken the last dollar in her
purse, and she shook her yellow head
at her attractive reflection.
"You look as gay as a new pennyl"
said grandma, admringy. ''And you
call to mind want thinking of it
but you take me right back to one night,
summer before last, when we was out to
your Unc.e Joseph's You was going
down the road to some kind of doings,
with the young folks, and you had
pink dress with some flowers stuck on,
just as you've got now. s'posc you've
forgot itl"
Jessie's face was lowered. 1t had
grown red and warm, and her eyes were
frightened, and yet softened.
Forgotten it3 No; and she knew she
never should forget it. The dress
had been pink gingham, and the flowers
some witty little "Chinese-globe-fow-
ers" that grew in Uncle Joseph's yard,
and the occasion had been ''pound-
party" at the little parsonage.
But it had been the happiest summer
in her life. In the face of all the gale
ties that had followed, Jessie con
fessed 1t.
She was only seventeen then, and Al
fred Foster was twenty. He had lived
next to Uncle Joseph's-a hard-working
farmers boy, tall, red-handei, brown
faced, and perhaps a little awkward. But
he had fine eyes and gentle voice, and far
better manners than her cousins, Bob and
Seldom, and they had won their way into
Jessies soft heart.
Had he cared for herl She did not
know-only, coming home from the
ministers that night, he had been hesi-
tant and stammering. 1t had seemed
as though he was trying to say some
thing he was half afraid to say; and
when he left her at the door, he had
pressed her hand very hard, and ling
cred a little. ''
And the next week, they had come
back to the city, and that had been the
end
Well, it had been a boy and girl affair
at the best, and Jessie had tried to for
get it. But she had never quite sue
ceeded. And in the depths of her heart
she had cherished faint hope of meet
ing him again some time.
1t was not likely, since Uncle Joseph
hai moved to Dakota. But the thought