CHAPTER I.

Te Aroha News, Volume IV, Issue 173, 9 October 1886, Page 8

CHAPTER I.

THE BIRTHDAY PARTY. .ffA-^K ! What is the meaniDg of those merry, rollicking sounds that come swelling Out upon the soft summer air, and thrilling each pas3er-by with sympathy &nd delight? They are the sweetest sounds in all the world, the musical laughter and glad voices of innocent, happy children— the Silvery tones of charming, light-hearted little girls, mingled with the more noiey, tut not less enjoyable, shouts of strong, lusty boy 3. They proceed from the gates of an elegant estate, situated in the suburbs of a large tsity, where a jovial company of little folk?, with tennia, croquet, swings, and other amusements of various kinds, are giving heart and soul to the business of getting all the sport possible out of the occasion. It was the birthday of little Margaret Houghton, who was the only child and heiress of Wallace Houghton, Esquire, a retired and wealthy merchant of the city of Boston. Ten summers had come and gone since a beautifullittledaughter had come to gladden this home of wealth and luxury, while every -anniversary had baen celebrated with feasting, gifts, and merry-making. To-day, as the little miss completed her first decade, the fond pareut3 had made greater efforts than ever before to contribute to the happiness of their darling. A fine large tent had been erected upon the lawn before the house, and from the tall pole that rose from its centre, a beautiful silken flag waved gracefully to and fro on the summer breeze, while, besides the games without, everything which could poasibly serve to interest or amuse a child had been collected within it for that purpose. The company, of course, was a very select one. Only unexceptional children had been bidden to the birthday feast, which, being interpreted, naeanp, only such as had been born to an exalted station in life and in an atmosphere of cultured and genteel society. The petted idol of the millionaire must not Gome in contact with common clay ; she must be surrounding only by such influences as would tend to refine, elevate, and preserve the aristocratic and aesthetic principles which had always governed her life. So the Chesters, Huntingtons, Carrol?, and other scions from the fashionable world had received their perfumed notes bidding them to the merrymaking, and all mortals ■who were so unfortunate as to occupy an ordinary sphere in life were rigidly* excluded. But the little one?, as yet comparatively indifferent to the shackles of the fashionable ■world of which they were to become later alave3, appeared to be enjoying themselves very much after the manner of the " vulgar herd." They shouted as the raggedest and mo^t neglected street gamin of the city. They laughed as merrily and heartily as the humblest peasant. They romped like a troop of young Indians, and stuffed themselves with good things like veritable litHe gluttons and beggars. Yet it was a pretty sight— thoae sweet little maidens clad in their dainty robes, decked with bright, floating ribbons, with their merry, glancing eyes, ro3y cheeks, and smiling lips, tripping lightly hither and thither, and followed by their eager, honestfaced young knights, and pride of many a fond father's heart, and who, even at that incipient age, were amusingly aping the gallantry of their elders. One cannot behold anything more delightful than a company of happy children gathered around a temptingly spread table, with their bright, eager faces, their expectant eyea, a3 they rove hither and thither, making one wish himself again a child, with a keen appetite of youth. " Every good thing of which children are so fond had been provided for little Miss Margaret's guests. There were great, luscious strawberries, the first of the season, piled high and red in glittering cut-glass fruit dishes. There were little cakes and biej cakes, and the birt hda> cake, with its pretty devices in frosting ; there were bonbons and confectionery of »ll kinds ; and last, but nhb of least importance, there wa3 plenty of ice-cream in tempting cone 3 of pink, and yellow, and brown, the simple sight of which made the little folks' mouths wator. How they did enjoy it all, every one of them ! And how they made those good things disappear. Oh, marvellous capacity of healthy, childiah stomachs ! And then, after all thi Q , there was brought upon the board, ■with many smiles and an air of much mystery, a huge silver punch-bowl, filled to the brim with a strange-looking mixture, and decorated with tiny flaps and wax candles — ten of each — the exact number of pretty Margaret Houghton's birthdays. *' Mamma, what is that ?" cried the child, regarding the mysterious compound curiously with her great blue eyes. "That, my darling, is a sawdust pudding," responded the lady, her face dimpling with amusement. A shout of laughter and derision went up from the company about the table. What mockery was this that would seek to tempfc their surfeited desires with chipa of wood and dust from the woodman's saw? But if it did not appeal to their appetites it certainly did to their curiosity, and the mirth subsided while the little ones sat still and awaited further developments with an eagerness there was no mistaking. Firat the declarations were distributed — a flag to each lad, a candle to the little maidens — after which a servant prepared to eerve the extraordinary contents of the huge punch-bowl. A ladle was dipped into it, and a mass of Clean, creamy saw-dust was removed to a •plate, when out rolled a ball of spotless cotton about the size of an apple. Each child was served in this way,, and then the fun began. With much laughter and jest the cotton balls were dissected and each one was found to contain sdme pretty gifts for its happy possessor to take away as a souvenir of the delightful occasion. French bonbons were then distributed, snapped and unfolded, and merriment reigned while the little ones donned their fanciful caps and head dresses, after which * procession was formed and they marched

orth into the grounds again as grotesque tnd hilarious a troop as ever ran riot over i gentleman's premises, Margaret floughton led the mirthful ;rain down the broad, circular avenue to the massive iron gate which shut iher father's elegant estates away from the common world outside. But just her>j something attracted her attention which was to leave its impress upon her whole after life. A boy, of perhaps twelve years, waa standing outside the massive structure— a veritable little street gamin, .barefooted, soiled, and illy clad, his hat from which the brim was half torn a\yay, pushed back from his flushed and heated face, thus revealing masses of curling brown hair lying in moist rings upon his forehead, while hia great wistful dark eyes were peering in between the bars of the gate at the group of happy children, in then* comical caps and holiday attire, with a look of longing and hearthunger pitiful to behold. The expression of bis countenance betrayed that he felt the difference between himself and these beings of " finer mould," who were shut away from him within those sacred precincts ; the grieved look ab^ut hia mouth, a sort of wondering sadneaa' in hia ey6s, showed that he could nob understand why life should be so full of hope and pleasure for them— so empty for him. And why should it? His face was as noble and handsome, hia form as straight and manly, his limbs as strong and lithe, his mind and heart, and capacity for enjoyment ac large as theirs. Ah ! the magi? aureole of gold had environed them with its mystic halo, thus assigning them a place inside, while he, dignified by no such glory, was destined to outside a certain pale of society. *' Hi ! see ! look at the little beggar," cried a thoughtless urchin, as he caught sight of tho forlorn figure we have described. " My ! what a rag-bag," piped a little miss, who was gorgeous in azure satin with real lace flounces, blue silk hose, and white kid boota. " Here, I've got a switch— l'll send him about his business. Go away — we don't allow beggars at this party," shouted a coarse boy, and he advanced toward the gate as if to put his threat into execution. But sweet Margaret Houghton sprang forward and laid her sniull hand upon hi: uplifted arm. "ISo, no, Webster, you mu3t not strike him, and you should not say such unkind things— he is a little boy just like you." "Just like me I I guess not," was the indignant retort to this assertion, while hi drew his little form up proudly, and flushed an angry crimson, " I mean that he can hear, and see, and feel, just as you can, and you should nol say or do anything to hurt him," the gentU child replied. " Pooh !" waa the contemptuous answer, while he cast a look of defiance at the in truder. Margaret stepped nearer, pushing hei impolite guest gently aside, her beautifu eyes looking'troublod, her cheeks red as t peach, her manner kind and pitiful. "Do you want anything, boy? Whai did you come here for?" she asked, in t kind tone. The boy's eyes had blazed angrily at the rude words of the others, and hia^ lace had grown crimeon with passion ; but his coloui subsided, and the wrathful light died away, at the sweet tones and friendly words o; the beautiful little girl befoie him. The pathetic words moved the lovelj child strangely. She was having a pleasant time withir that earthly paradise, while he, poor being from an humbler sphere, could only stand outeide and look upon it. " No, I don't want anything," he replied, bashfully, but regarding her wonderingly " I only heard you having a good time ir here, so I stopped to look tor a moment." " D'an't you ever have a good time like this ?" she asked, half-sadly, half curiously. As if mentally contrasting their condi tions, he glanced down at his bare, dustj feet, and over his untidy clothing, then ai her dainty white dress, with its floating azure sash, her pretty bronze slippers, with their blue satin bows, then shook his head, and paid, gravely : ♦•No" "I'm sorry," Margaret replied, a little regretful sigh escaping her red lips. ••This ia my birthday," she explained. " I'm ten years old to-day, and I'm having a party. I think I never had such a good time before, and I wish everybody could, hi. in it," she concluded, wistfully, her earnest blue eyes gazing sorrowfully into tho3E brown ones on the other side of the gate. " Stay her a minute till I come again," she added in a auick whisper, then she turned abruptly away. "Come," she said to her companions, " let us go back to the tent and have a game of " blind man's buff !" and speeding down the avenue, they followed, leaving the poor boy still standing there, watching their retreating torms, and vainly trying! as many others have done, to solve the perplexing question why some people wen always, 'in,' and others always 'out.' Before five minutes had passed, little Margaret came flying down the drive-waj again. She had slipped away, unobserved frorx her company, nnd had come back there witl: a strange purpose in her young heart. She found the lad atili standing where she had left him. " Boy," she said, gently, preesing bei sweet face close to the iron bare, " I wanted to give you something, this was why 1 told you to stay. Mamma made such fur of v is to-day," she went on to explain, " with a fawdust pudding and funny little cotton puffs like dumplings in it, not a pudding te eat, you know, only for siport. There was something nice in our cotton balls for every one. This came in tcine, and I am going to give it to you. It is a little gold dollar, and there is a hole and ring in it to fasten to a chain. Perhaps you haven't got any chain," with a doubtful glance at the forlorn figure confronting her, " but if you like to keep it, maybe you can put a string through it." She slipped her hand, in which there gleamed a bright new coin, through the gate, and held it toward him. His eyes. lighted as he beheld it, but he drew back slightly without offering to take her gift. " Your ma won't liko it, "he said briefly. •* She won't care. I've got lots of presents—lovely ones, too— and I want you to have this ;" and she dropped it just at his feet. He stooped and picked it up, his face all aglow. *• I never had anything so pretty before," he said, his eyes devouring ita yellow brightness. "What's vourname?" Margaret asked. "Louis." " Louis what ?'? " Louis D unbar." " That's a nice name. How old are you ?" " Twelve." " Why, you're two years older than I. I'm ten to-day," with an air of pride and as if she loved to say it. , ♦'Do you like ice-cream?'* she asked, changing the subject. He gave a queer little laugh. " It looks nice, but I never bad any."

"Didn't you?" she said, with grave, ritif ul ey 68, " Well, wouldn't you like some if my birthday cream ?" The boy nodded bashfully, but looked loubtful as to the propriety of, accepting ler offer- , , , , "Well," the child returned eagerly, 'you go to that side gate down there, md I'll take you round to the kitchen and give you Home. You shall have a piece of my cake, too." She turned, as she spoke, toward the fipot to which she had directed him, and^ was at fche gate before him, opening it with her own hands for him to enter. # Then, leading the way, she took him by a side path through the grounds, and finally came up before a rear door of the elegant mansion which was her home. "Mary," she called to a servant, who was standing within the kitchen, " get this boy some ice-oream, a piece of cake and strawberries, and some of the other good things, too." " Oh, Miss Margie !" cried the girl in disgust, as she caught sight of her strange companion, " what would your mamma say to see you in such company ? and as for feeding the like o' that with ice-cream and atrawberriaa — ha, ha ! I'd better get him some bread and butter." The child coloured crimson at the girl's rudeness. i "I am to do whatever I please today, becaase^fit is my birthday — mamma said so and you are to give this boy what I tell you," she returned imperiously, and emphasizing her command with a Btamp ot her )retty little foot. The girl laughed, but turned goodnaturedly to do her bidding, and soon made her appearance again bearing a small tray covered with a snowy napkin, upon which was a tempting array of dainties such as had never before gladdened the heait of the poor little waif to whom they were presented. There now, Louis Dunbar, eat all you like," commanded little Miaa Houghton, smiling to see the look of genuine delight on his flushed face ; and waiting for no second bidding, her stranga guest fell to with a will, and disposed of his rare feast with a relish that was beautiful to behold. Margaret stood by mean while entertaining him with an account of the day's amusements and pleasures, and feeling happier over his enjoyment than over the hosts of beautiful gifts she had received. " I never had anything so nice before in my life," Louie said, ac the last strawberry and morael of cake disappeared from view ; " you have been very good to me, but — " "But what?" asked his little hostess, as he hesitated and looked perplexed; "do you want some more ?" " Oh, no ; but I wonder what makes somo folks so different from others ?" " How different ?" " Why, like you and me," he replied, pointing at her, then at himself. " Why do you have everything that is nice and pretty, while I never can have anything ?" A puzzled expression Btole over the child'B beautiful face. " I suppose it is because my papa ia rich and— yours is poor," she answered, hesitatingly, after a moment's thought. " I haven't any father," returned the boy, briefly. " Poor boy !" the child said, softly, " then your mother must be very poor." " I haven't any mother either," was the pathetic response to this. " Oh, where do you live, then ? — who takes care of you ?" The child's voice trembled and there were tears in her blue eyes as she realised for the moment something of his forlorn condition. "I live with John Jones — he took me when mother died," and the boy's lip quivered over those last Bad words "when mother died." " He's as poor as can be," he went on ; " and he's got three boya of his own besides me, so of course I don't expect very much." " Don't they have nice things to eat and good clothes to wear?" Margie asked, sadly. "No, we all fare about alike. "But," he continued, after a moment of grave reflection, " when I grow to be a man 1 will be rich, and everything nice like this," glancing about the beautiful place, " and then I'll pay you back for being so good to me to-day." Ho doffed his hat as he spoke, and made her a bashful bow ; then, turning, he darted away with a speed of the wind, and was goon lost to sight amon? the trees, while little Margaret Houghton went gravely back to her young guests, musing upon a problem that has puzzled many an older and wi?er head than hers - namely, the inequalities of life and their causes.