Other formats

    TEI XML file   ePub eBook file  

Connect

    mail icontwitter iconBlogspot iconrss icon

Uncles Three

Chapter IX — Uncle Stephen's Party

page 103

Chapter IX
Uncle Stephen's Party

I Am going to have a party," said Uncle Stephen, "and a cake and games, and children to play with. I don't want any grown-ups."

"Will Denise be too old?" Jan asked.

Uncle looked thoughtful.

"Let me see, Denise is seventeen, isn't she? Well, as a concession we'll let her come, and Dan and Kathie can entertain her. I want only children of my own age."

"Nan?" suggested Pipi, giggling. Uncle Stephen's age is unknown, but he is really very old, somewhere between forty and eighty.

"Nan? Yes, we'll have Nan," said Uncle, "and Nancy, Wally, and Peter McLennan. Perhaps—yes, we'll have Nancy McKenzie too, and she can talk to Dan and Kathie and Denise. I think we'll play hockey in the afternoon, and dance on the lawn at night, and have trifle and iced cakes and jelly for supper. My birthday comes only once a year," finished Uncle, sighing.

That is how it all began. We sent invitations to the children around—at least we rode or drove page 104to the various homesteads—and we did not get one single refusal. Even Nancy was not too grown-up to come to Uncle Stephen's party, and Nan grew pale with excitement. She had never been to a party in all her life, and even her shyness would not keep her from this one.

Of course, as it was Uncle Stephen's birthday we set to work to manufacture presents. We knew he would appreciate something we had worked ourselves far more than the finest things the shops could supply. Besides, so soon after Christmas, we had no money, and anyway there were no shops within fifty miles of Kamahi. Jock collected cones for a photograph frame; Pipi contented herself with a pincushion made in the shape of a carrot. You knew it was a carrot because she said it was. I stitched a handkerchief sachet. Uncle Stephen kept his handkerchiefs in a drawer, but if he had a sachet he might use it instead. Kathie contrived an egg-cosy, which was dainty and original, but unfortunately Uncle Stephen thought it was a watch-pocket, and hung it up on the wall, and put his watch in it every night. Kathie did not like, after this, to tell him it was an egg-cosy. Rob borrowed five shillings from Uncle Dan, and sent to town for a book; he said he could not make anything if he tried for a year.

Jan gave herself a headache trying to think of page 105something nice enough for Uncle Stephen. She is very fond of him, you see, and I believe if he has a favourite among us all it is Jan. She thought of knitting him a tie, but unfortunately Uncle Stephen does not wear knitted ties, and she had no silk. Slippers would have been just the thing, but she did not know how to make them. Handkerchiefs were too ordinary, and Uncle Stephen would have had a fit if she had given him anything embroidered. Besides, she couldn't embroider, and hadn't anything to embroider.

Two days before the party Jan was still hovering between the choice of handkerchiefs, which she had not started to hem, and a book-cover, which Uncle Stephen would not use. It was really perplexing.

It was Jan who suggested the fairy play. She though it would be good fun, and most interesting for the uncles, if we gave a performance of The Enchanted Wood on the lawn in the moonlight.

"They will simply love it," she said. "We'll have the end of the lawn, by the lilac, for a stage, with the trees for a background. We'll wear fairy costumes—we can rig up something. The uncles will enjoy it very much, and we ought to do something for them, they are so good to us," finished Jan, morally. "Bags I be Una."

Now Una is the best part, and I rather fancied it myself. Jan is too leggy and army for a fairy, page 106and all fairies haven't golden curls, in spite of what Pipi says. I am sure they must have bobbed their hair by now; bobbing is so fashionable. We gave Jock the part of an elf, since none of us wanted it, and told Kathie she could be the Old Dame of the Woods. Kathie, however, was helping Uncle Dan with his conjuring tricks, and had no time to rehearse with us. Uncle Dan had consented to entertain the company with some conjuring. He had been studying it up from a book, and could really make eggs disappear, which was wonderful, if you didn't know where they had gone to.

We wasted two afternoons disputing over the casting of the play, and I don't believe we should ever have had one at all if Uncle Stephen had not taken a hand. I do not know how it happened —we meant it to be a surprise for him—but somehow he stepped into the breach, and smoothed over everything, and stage-managed for us.

"It is a very pretty idea," he said, "and the play is a good one. Let me see, Jan shall be the witch in a high hat and a red coat, Pipi Fairy Joy, and Jock an elf. We need two more fairies. Bob and Betty Martin are not exactly fairylike, but Killarney is only ten miles away, and they could ride over for rehearsals. Rob will, perhaps, take the part of the Knight, and Ngaire—yes, Ngaire may play Una," finished Uncle, smiling at us all.

page 107

So bobbed hair was in fashion in fairyland. Jan and Pipi were a wee bit disappointed at first, but they soon forgot their soreness, and we learned our parts, and rehearsed under Uncle Stephen's supervision. It really was the prettiest play, and Kathie and Mary, who were clever with their needles, contrived dainty, spangly frocks for us. Mine was of moonlight blue, and I had a silver star for my head, and a wand to carry. Pipi's frock was white, and Betty Martin was in pink. Jan wore a red cloak and a high hat. After all, she liked it better than the fairy frock. Besides, she was a princess underneath, with a wonderful robe of golden tissue, which was really mosquito netting over gold paper. Jan said she hoped she wouldn't crackle much when she moved.

Uncle Stephen had decided that the party was to be an outdoor one, and it would have been sad had the weather proved unkind. On the night before the festivity we scanned the sky for sign of rain, but it was as clear as clear could be, and the west just a glory of gold with not even the line of a coming nor'-wester to disturb us.

We went to bed early that evening. We were to be late the following night, and the uncles did not want us to lose any sleep. Jan declared that she didn't mind staying up till the usual hour, but Uncle John drove her off with us at eight o'clock. Jan was very indignant.

page 108

"Kathie can sit up. I don't see why I can't. I believe when I'm eighty Uncle John will say, 'Hobble away to your couch, childie. You mustn't lose your beauty sleep. Here's your crutches, and don't forget to take out your teeth.'"

She was so hurt that she decided she would not go to sleep. Anyway, she could not; she had something on her conscience.

She had it in her hands too when I woke up, somewhere about midnight, I think. She was sitting up in bed, gazing desperately at a handful of silks and ribbons, and brandishing a pair of scissors dangerously. I blinked at the light; then sat up and watched her.

"Why, Jan!"

"It's Uncle Stephen's present," Jan said, and there was a choke in her voice. "I haven't got it yet, Ngaire. I'm—I'm making him a glove case."

"But he doesn't wear gloves," I said, and Jan gave a kind of howl, and the scissors fell off the bed, and the silks and odds and ends of ribbons scattered, like a miniature Benjamin's coat, on the floor.

I gazed at her in consternation. The situation was serious, but the sound of our voices, and the noise the scissors made aroused Kathie. She came out to us, her face flushed with sleep, her hair falling over her shoulders. She was wearing page 109a blue dressing-gown, which had been Mother's Christmas present, and even though she was still half asleep I think she knew she looked very pretty in it. She gazed at us in surprise.

"Why, Ngaire—Jan!"

"It's Uncle Stephen's present," Jan said, sadly. "That's it. Look out, you're treading on some of it. It's a glove-case, and he doesn't wear gloves, and anyhow it isn't made and never will be. I haven't got anything for him, and I don't know what I'll do," and poor Jan buried her face in the pillow and cried.

Sometimes Kathie is just like Mother—so sweet, and comforting, and loving. She put her arms round Jan, and her voice had a little quiver in it as she said:

"Don't worry, old girl. Why don't you write a little poem, and give it to Uncle Stephen with a bunch of flowers. He'd like that better than anything you could make. You're not very good at sewing, you know, Jan," Kathie said, and her lips twitched, and the quiver in her voice grew more pronounced as she looked at the array of silks and ribbons destined for a glove-case for Uncle Stephen, who doesn't wear gloves.

Jan, was very grateful to Kathie and thanked her for the idea she had given her. She meant to get to work straight away, but first she stole down to the kitchen, and returned with a slice of page 110bread and butter apiece, and Kathie sat on the end of Jan's bed while we munched our impromptu supper. Jan said she felt quite poetical, but I think she felt sleepy too, for I noticed she was nodding as she sat propped up with pillows, waiting for an inspiration. Perhaps that was why the poem had rather the effect of blank verse, but Uncle Stephen was pleased. I believe he liked Jan's present best of all. He read it through quite four times, and then folded it up, and put it in his pocket. He liked Pipi's pincushion too, and she told him it was a carrot, and he said it was thoughtful of her. Rob's book he placed in a prominent position on the shelves; then he hung Kathie's egg-cosy over his bed, and helped Jock re-glue the photograph frame which had come to pieces. My handkerchief sachet found a home on his dressing-table.

"I was really needing a handkerchief sachet," he said.

Nan was the first of the guests to arrive. She rode down from Kinloch, with only Tiny Pat for escort. Mr Somerset had been up in the Old Testament country ever since he arrived, and his coming had not altered Nan's life at all. She wore her old brown jersey and short skirt, and it was only when we went to dress, before the other children arrived, that the thought of it forced itself upon us.

page 111

Nan had no party frock. We were wearing only plain white slips, but they looked quite fine and dressed-up beside Nan's shabby clothes. Her brother should have bought her a party frock. He should—he should! He was up in the mountains collecting insects and butterflies. He would have been better employed looking after his little sister.

Poor Nan! She had never considered her clothes, but when she saw our clean white dresses lying ready she looked at me, and then at Pipi, and her lip quivered.

"I—I haven't a party frock," she said.

Pipi glared.

"Jolly good job too," she remarked. "I don't mean to wear mine either. Silly white things. What I like," said Pipi, with elaborate unconcern, "is a jersey. It's so comferable."

I am afraid, in the excitement of it all, Jan and I soon forgot Nan and her trouble. We were too interested in ourselves. Uncle Stephen's guests were to arrive for lunch, and about twelve o'clock we went into the bedroom, and began to adorn ourselves. The white frocks were as white as white could be; Jan's hair-ribbon was blue, mine a jaunty pink. At the last moment Jan dashed into the other room and brought back Kathie's powder-box.

"I'll just dab a wee bit on the end of my nose.

page 112

It's shiny," she said, squinting to get the effect.

"I don't see why I shouldn't. Kathie does."

"Kathie's grown up. And anyway she only uses the tiniest scrap. This is what your nose looks like, Jan."

Jan had been liberal with Kathie's powder, plastering it on till she looked like a clown. I imitated her.

"See, that's you, Jan."

"That's Miss Small," added Jan, with a giggle, putting on another layer and admiring the effect. "And that's Elise Wilson—you know, Ngaire, the girl at Waihola, who thinks such a lot of herself."

"We'll have to hurry," I said. "Jan, you've got on your old shoes."

"Oh, my gracious! Ngaire, where did I put my others?"

We dived under the bed, and burrowed in the wardrobe; we raided Kathie's room, and hunted in odd corners. Uncle John's voice came booming down the passage.

"Jan—Ngaire! Come at once. Your guests are here."

They were not ours, but Uncle Stephen's, but Jan and I did not stop to argue the point. We flew down the hall, and on to the veranda. Nancy McKenzie, Iris Wright, Nell Wray, and the two little Martins were there. Kathie and Uncle John were talking to them.

page 113

"How do you do?" I said politely, and then I saw Uncle John glaring at me, as if he could scarcely believe his eyes. Suddenly I remembered my nose, and the powder on it. I could only laugh, though I felt all nose—just nose and nothing else. Jan giggled too, trying to make the best of a bad job, though she told me afterward that she felt that hers had spread all over her face.

"What have you been doing to yourselves? Go and wash it off immediately," Uncle commanded, and Jan and I, feeling somewhere about two and a half, and shrinking to almost nothing, followed our floury noses out of the room. In the bedroom we made a dash for the mirror. We did look funny, as if we had been iced in the middle of our faces. We were scarlet with mortification too, which heightened the effect.

"Mine looks like a white tombstone with red geraniums all round," Jan said. "Ngaire, why didn't you remember?"

"Why didn't you remember yourself?" I retorted. "Hurry up, there's the bell."

We were so long removing the icing that we were late for lunch. The guests were all seated when we came in. Uncle John gave us one look, and then, satisfied, began carving. There were still two empty chairs, and it was when Uncle Stephen was looking around to see who was missing that Pipi and Nan ran in.

page 114

Nan slipped shyly to the chair Uncle Stephen held out for her, but Pipi smiled cheerfully around. She wore her old brown jersey, which she had hunted out from the bottom of the big trunk, and her skirt was the shortest and shabbiest she possessed. She sat on one side of the table, and Nan on the other, and they looked like two little brown sparrows who had drifted by accident into an assembly of gay-plumaged birds. Each little sparrow, however, was adorned with a bow of brightest scarlet, which stood erect, like an unexpected crest, on each little head. I recognized the hair-ribbon. It was mine.

I saw Uncle Stephen smile at Pipi, as if well pleased, and Pipi smiled back at him, and then glanced calmly round the table.

"I don't think," she said, surveying the white, the blue, the pink, and the yellow summer frocks with a superior air, "I don't think it's going to be at all a fine day. I think," said Pipi, "it's going to blow a freezin' cold wind."