  They all went from “Gillong” except old Joe, and he came out to see them off, and told them that there wouldn’t be anyone as nice as them there, and to fly round and enjoy themselves. The station was a blaze of light as they drove up, and buggies were coming from all directions, and motor-cars and a few horsemen. “Oh, dear, I’m getting shy!” said Eva. “I do hope I don’t keep like it, or I won’t enjoy myself a bit.” They were all too excited to feel shy when they alighted, and were led off to take off their wraps. “What do you think?” gasped Eileen, as she took off her cloak before going down to the party room. “I’ve seen four gipsies already. I’m sorry I’m not old Queen Elizabeth or Mary of Scots, or some of them.” “Never mind, I’m sure you’ll look as nice as any of them,” said Miss Gibson. “Come along, now, and forget any grievances and enjoy yourself right merrily.” Enjoy themselves they did, and after a while Eileen didn’t care if there were forty gipsies there. They danced and sang and played games in the moonlit garden, and there were such a lot of nice boys and girls; and how they did talk! Young Harry Egerton, from a big station further north, danced a lot with Mollie, and he quite beamed when she told him she liked his name. When he asked her why, and she told him it was because she had a nice Uncle named Harry he didn’t look half so pleased. “And we’re going to Sydney to stay with him again this summer,” she went on. “He’ll soon be back from the Continent now.” Then Harry said he was going to Sydney for the summer, too, and they’d meet down there. Enid was so pleased to see Frank again that she had the second dance with him, and then fat George Blackston came up and said she promised it to him a long time ago. She smiled sweetly, and begged to be excused, because Frank had been so long away, and was only staying up the country for a little time. So George marched off and secured another partner, and said he didn’t think the party was going to be much good. “Why?” asked his partner with wide-open eyes, for she had just been thinking how “lovely” it was. All the evening the fun was kept going. At first Willie strolled round and watched them all; but after a while he, too, joined in the merriment, and what a time they had! Doris was romping round, and tore the wadding on her dress, and after that little pieces of white fur were scattered all over the room. But she didn’t care, with her head thrown back, her eyes and cheeks glowing, she pranced round and said it was the beautifullest party she was ever at. And Eva, too, put away her flower-wreathed wand and joined in the fun. Mother and a lot more grown ups looked on and smiled and talked about the costumes, and the baby slept through it all, never knowing the good time he was missing. “You know,” confided Eileen to one of her partners, “we ought to have a lot of parties like this.” “Of course we ought,” he agreed. “Yes, every week or every fortnight, whatever,” and he agreed again. What a crowd were there—nearly all in fancy costume! Gipsies and Flower Girls and Queens and Shepherds and Stockmen and Soldiers and Sailors joined in the throng. Harry Egerton told Mollie that “Night” was the prettiest costume there, and Frank told Enid that “Dawn” was. For Enid was arrayed in a pretty costume of goldeny shade, merging into the rose-pink of dawn. Colin came as a courtier, and Eileen said she would never have believed that Colin could look so nice, if she hadn’t seen him with her very own eyes. He picked her out at once, and said that the Gipsy Maid must dance with the Count, as in “the days of old.” So the merry Gipsy Girl danced happily with the gorgeous Count. Meta was a Scotch Lassie, and the twins were the Little Princes in the Tower, and looked angelic in their dear little black velvet suits, lace collars, and patent shoes and buckles; and Edith enjoyed herself immensely looking on, and a very merry party of boys and girls gathered round her chair. “Next party I hope you’ll be able to join in all the fun,” said Eileen, kissing her. “Oh, yes! of course, later on I will,” answered Edith, brightly, for she had learnt while still young the great lessons of patience and unselfishness. Then supper was announced, and Enid suggested that they should have a grand march in full regalia to the supper table, and they all agreed heartily. Wands and baskets of flowers, etc., were hastily gathered together, and Baby made a wild rush for her cap and hood, which were thrown aside; and they all marched out to the big covered-in verandah, where the supper was spread. On they went, two by two, laughing and joking and making a pretty picture of color and brightness in their varied costumes. And if the fun had been bright and gay all the evening, it became even better at the supper table. There were jests and jokes and ripples of merry laughter, and Eileen confided to her partner that she was just finding life worth living. “I wonder where’s the twins?” said Colin, looking round the table. “Oh, yes—the twins!” echoed Eileen, and just then she gave a little scream. “Oh, dear! what’s that?” and on the other side of the table someone else gave a little shriek. “Oh, a dog!” they cried. “What? Where?” “Under the table, and he bit my leg!” cried a little fair-haired girl. “Oh, dear, you’ll go silly!” cried someone. “If he’s a mad dog, you’ll get hy—dro—pho—bia.” “Oh!” the girl shrieked. “And he’s bit me, too!” “And me—and me——” “Oh!” Then there was a scramble. A lot climbed into their chairs, while heads were ducked under the table, to find—the twins! Yes, the twins, chuckling fit to kill themselves! “We noo we’d fighten you,” they cried, as they popped out. “We noo you’d sing out. We was sittin’ under there ever so long.” “You ought to be sent home,” cried Colin, hotly; but all the others laughed. “Did you think we was mad dogs?” they cried, in great glee. “We said we’d fighten you a long time ago.” Then they patted their little velvet suits and straightened their little lace collars, and looked nicer than ever. Then everyone roared with laughter, and the supper went on merrily, as though there was no such thing in the world as drought or hard times. And when the buggies came round for the homeward return there were laughing good-byes and all kinds of promises, while the waiting horses champed at their bits, or a big motor throbbed as if in protest at being kept so long. Good-byes were flung back across the cold night air, as at last they rolled away home, saying it was the nicest party that ever was. |
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