Not long after this, "homely Miss Pike" sat by the window in the back parlor, drawing her thread in and out, in and out, of a piece of pretty pink silk. Little Kittyleen, who had returned from Washington, and as usual spent most of her time at Dr. Gray's, had been lying on the rug, gazing up wonderingly at Miss Pike's large, wide mouth.

At last she broke forth suddenly, as if thinking aloud,—

"Most everybody has whiskers, don't they, Miss Pike?"

"Why, have I any whiskers, Kittyleen?"

"No'm; but you've got some growing."

Miss Pike laughed softly to herself. She had always known she was very plain, and of course she was aware of the rather thick, dark beard on her upper lip. Kittyleen's little speech amused her, and yet the tears sprang to her eyes.

"If I had had my way about it," thought she, "I should have had a form like this perfect wax doll I am dressing, and very much such a pink and white face, with wavy, soft hair, the color of old gold; sweet, red lips, straight nose, not a spot or a freckle anywhere. Then the whole world would have admired me, and I fancy it might be pleasant to be admired.

"Ah, but the One who made me knew what is best! If I can't be beautiful, I can try to be good; and I'm not going to cry about my homely body, for I'm sure to leave it behind me one of these days when I'm called up to Heaven."

Then with a happy smile the excellent young lady took the tape-measure out of her work-basket and measured the slender, round waist of "little miss," as she called the doll.

"Oh, Miss Pike, where did you get that? She's larger than my Princess Aurora Arozarena, and I do believe she's handsomer," cried Flaxie, rushing in from the kitchen, where she had been stoning raisins. "Ethel told me you were dressing an elegant doll, and I couldn't wait another minute to see it."

"Well, I'm glad you think she's handsome," replied Miss Pike, trimming the silk basque carefully. "I think myself she's almost a perfect beauty. I fell in love with her last winter when we were in Washington, and bought her instead of buying myself a new bonnet."

"Why, Miss Pike, how funny! I didn't know young ladies ever wanted dolls. Though why not?" she thought next minute. Could anybody in the whole world be so "grown up" as not to love that exquisite "little miss," who sat up in Miss Pike's lap with the most knowing of smiles, as if she were just going to speak?

"Oh, yes, young ladies love dolls," said Miss Pike, embracing the waxen image tenderly, as she fitted on the pink basque. "But I think I shall give up mine. In fact, I did not intend her for myself. I thought I would buy her and give her to some poor little girl, who never knew what it was to have a good time. And now I'm hurrying to get her dressed in season for Ethel's party. Don't you think she'll look well there? And of course there'll be some poor little girl among your guests, or perhaps a sick little girl; and I'll give her the doll."

"Oh, is that it?" said Flaxie, more surprised than ever. She had not issued invitations yet for her party,—or Ethel's party,—and Miss Pike's words set her to thinking.

Why, there were no poor little girls or any sick ones who ever went to parties! The children she played with were all well and happy. They had pleasant homes—not quite as pleasant as Flaxie's—and plenty to eat and wear. But of course there were other children in town.

"Let me think. Oh, there's Sadie Stockwell. She is a poor girl."

Sadie was not exactly sick, but she was lame. Something dreadful had happened to her when she was a baby, and her head seemed to be driven down between her shoulders, as if she had no neck. She made you think of a flower growing on a leaf-stalk without any stem. Her face was sweet, but sad and pale. She was shorter than most little girls of her age, and walked slowly and painfully with a pair of crutches. Sadie was a good little girl. Why wasn't she ever invited to parties? Flaxie did not know why, only "somehow she never was." She lived ever so far away from the other girls; perhaps that was one reason.

Brother Preston was in the shed with Rover, cracking walnuts for to-morrow's candy. Sister Julia was in the kitchen, finishing the raisins Flaxie had been stoning for cake; and Dora Whalen stood by the ironing-table, ironing the finest and best damask table-cloth for Ethel's party, though the table-cloth might have been as coarse as the pony's red blanket and it would have been all the same to the baby.

Flaxie walked about from room to room in deep thought. Finally, she paused at the open door of her mother's chamber, and looked in. On the floor beside Mrs. Gray stood a basket piled with very small dolls, which she was dressing with strips of bright ribbon, and bows of narrow taste. One of these tiny dolls was to be placed under each guest's plate, and carried home as a memento of Ethel's first party.

"Mamma," asked Flaxie, still in a brown study, "how many dollies did you buy, and how many girls am I going to invite?"

"Well, Mary, here are twenty dollies. I thought you and Ethel would each want one, and I meant you should ask eighteen little girls."

"Could I ask one more, mamma?"

"Eighteen is a large number, Mary; isn't it enough? Oh, do you want little Kittyleen?"

"Kittyleen, mamma? Why, no, indeed! She'd spoil everything. I don't want Kittyleen! I mean Ethel wouldn't want her; it's Ethel's kettledrum, of course."

Flaxie was careful to say repeatedly, "It is Ethel's kettledrum," lest she should forget it was not her own.

"Well, dear, who is the 'one more,' if not Kittyleen?"

Flaxie did not answer directly.

"Mamma," said she, "what do you suppose Miss Pike said? She said of course I'd have some poor girls and sick girls. Must I, mamma?"

Mrs. Gray felt a sudden pricking of conscience. Why hadn't she thought of that herself?

"Poor girls, Mary? Sick girls? Why, of course, as Miss Pike says, they are the very ones to enjoy your party, my daughter."

"Then, mamma, please buy another dolly, and I'll ask Sadie Stockwell. She won't take up a great deal of room. She never goes anywhere except to school, and never has any good times. I don't know what we could do with her, though," added Flaxie, with a puzzled look, "and I'm afraid the other girls won't like it, for she can't play."

"But the girls must like it, my daughter. You have all done wrong not to invite her to your parties long ago, for she is an excellent child, and never rough or ill-mannered. As for entertaining her, you and Julia can talk to her and show her your playthings and picture-books, can't you? I'm sure, Mary, you'll all be happier if you have Sadie."

"So I think, too," cried Flaxie, and skipped away joyfully, her light curls flying as she ran.

Sober little Sadie, who lived with eight brothers and sisters in an old, worn-out house, dressed in old, worn-out clothes, and looked old and worn-out herself,—how her solemn little face brightened at the unexpected honor of an invitation to Flaxie's—no, Ethel's—party! Mrs. Stockwell, too, was very much gratified, especially as Mrs. Gray had sent Sadie one of Flaxie's dresses, a pretty blue cambric, which could be altered over to fit her, as well as anything ever could fit her poor, crooked little figure.

Happy Sadie! She rode next day with Preston Gray in the little basket phaeton, after Blackdrop, the pony, and she felt like rubbing her eyes to make sure she was awake. She smiled beamingly at the cunning little steed and his silver-mounted harness, and at Rover, trotting now here and now there. She smiled at her crutches, which lay across the floor of the phaeton; she smiled at the very mud-puddles which winked back at her sleepily from the side of the road. If there had been any grass, she would have thought it was emeralds; if there had been ice, she would have thought it was diamonds.

When Preston lifted her from the phaeton at his father's gate, and Mrs. Gray and Flaxie both came out to meet her, followed by Kittyleen, who was there, of course, she hobbled up the path with a sparkle of joy and expectation in her sad brown eyes.

The people of Laurel Grove had always been kind to her, and given her mother plenty of half-worn garments to "make over" for all the family; but there are things that poor children prize even more than old clothes, and nothing had ever seemed quite so desirable to poor, lame Sadie as a little girls' tea-party.

This was chiefly because parties were unknown joys. She had dreamed of them, but never seen them. How the little guests amused themselves, and what they had to eat, it would be worth a great deal to know. Still, until to-day she had as little expectation of ever going to a party, as of mounting an owl's back and flying up to the moon.

Yet here she was. What a beautiful house! What lovely pictures and books and playthings and flowers! How very happy the people must be who lived here all the time!

It is true she was a little frightened at first, being a sensitive child, and not really sure whether the party had begun or not. The little girls kept arriving, one after another, and they were all extremely kind; but nobody thought to tell her the precise moment when the party would begin.

By and by, however, Miss Pike, who seemed in gay spirits, sprang up and said,—

"Let's all play 'Button, Button,' and immediately bashful little Sadie felt quite at home. Who would have thought of such a game at an elegant party? And Miss Pike hadn't gone half around with the button before she let it fall, softly and slyly, into Sadie's own hand."

This was another surprise.

Then, when the company were playing blind-man's-buff, Miss Pike took Sadie into a corner and began a long story, with Ethel in her lap and Kittyleen by her side. Sadie listened in rapture. No matter for the blind-man's-buff; she didn't wish to play. No matter for the "Magical Music," the "I Spy," the "Marching on to Old Quebec." Miss Pike's stories were better than all the games in the world.

Besides, Flaxie and her friends never seemed to forget Sadie, but kept coming up between the pauses to say something pleasant. They all agreed among themselves that it was the nicest party they had ever attended, and Kittyleen didn't spoil it; and they said this to Flaxie.

"Oh," said Flaxie, delighted, "then it's Miss Pike that makes it so nice."

But she was mistaken. It was Sadie, though nobody suspected it. They were all trying to give the lame girl pleasure, and we never make others happy without feeling happy ourselves.

But the best was to come. Supper was served, and all the girls were summoned to the dining-room to a feast such as one of the party had never seen before. Sandwiches, cakes, tarts, pyramids of candy, glasses of whipped cream; but what was that in the middle of the table? A little "Lady Bountiful" in a small chair. She was as large as a child two years old, but no baby of that age ever had such long, fair ringlets, such starry eyes, such rosy cheeks, such a sweet-smiling mouth, made up for endless kisses.

Her pink silk dress was trimmed with rich lace, and bore a sweeping train. You could just see in front the points of her tiny pink boots; and as for her gloves, they were long tan-colored kids,—the height of fashion,—and buttoned from wrist to elbow.

Just before this marvel of beauty stood a small light-stand, bearing a birthday cake on a silver tray; and the beauty was pointing sweetly with both hands at the cake, which was a very large one, heavily frosted, and marked in letters of cedar, "Ethel." But no one thought of the cake for looking at "little miss." She was so wondrously bewitching, so "alive looking" that they all exclaimed in chorus, "Oh, what a beauty!" They wanted to rush upon her and embrace her; but being far too well-bred for that, they took their seats in perfect order, only murmuring over and over again to one another,—

"Oh, isn't she just too sweet for anything?" All but Flaxie Frizzle's Kittyleen, who smothered Flaxie with kisses, and teased her with questions. Was it Ethel's doll? Who gave it to her? Was that her kettledrum?

Presently Mrs. Gray cut the birthday cake; and while she was passing it, that roguish Miss Pike stole up behind Ethel, and set a beautiful wreath of flowers upon her head. Everybody laughed as the little one suddenly dropped her cake to the floor, and cried "Oh!"

But it was not till the close of supper that a single word was said about the doll.

Then Mrs. Gray remarked,—

"Suppose we pass her round and look at her? But here is a piece of paper pinned to her dress. We will read it first, and see what it says."

She unpinned the paper and read aloud,—

"I wish to be given to a sick little girl or a lame girl."

It was half a minute before anybody could take the sense of this. What, wasn't it Ethel's doll, after all? Then they understood it, and all cried out, "Oh, Sadie! Sadie! Sadie!"

The poor bewildered child turned very pale. This was too much happiness for her. She wasn't used to anything like this. She rose to her feet, caught up her crutches,—though where she wanted to go she did not know,—dropped them, and fell down crying.

But she was crying for joy. It wasn't possible, no, surely it wasn't possible that this loveliest of all presents was intended for her.

And there was Miss Pike. She stood holding the doll's trunk in her hand, full of the dainty underclothing and every-day dresses and outside wraps that she had been making for weeks. But when she saw Sadie crying I must confess she cried, too, though she was intending to laugh. But you know laughter and tears lie very near together. And, indeed, it was very touching to everybody when Sadie sobbed out, not knowing any one heard her,—

"My dolly! Oh, I never 'spected to have such a good time as this, not till I went to Heaven!"

Thus ended Ethel's first party. And everybody said it was a great success. "But where was the kettledrum? I kept looking and looking, and I didn't see it," mourned Flaxie Frizzle's Kittyleen.

THE END.