The Party for Marjory

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Dec 14, 1916

The Party for Marjory

“Another tumbler broke itself today,” Clara announced cheerfully. Clara’s attitude toward the kitchen mishaps for which she was responsible seemed that of a serene and wholly disinterested spectator.

“O Clara,” Mrs. Fields cried reproachfully, “that’s the third in two weeks.”

“Yes’m. And the handle came off the sugar bowl this noon.” Mrs. Fields dropped into a chair. Tumblers broke easily, she knew, but the sugar bowl! And she had been trying so hard to save three dollars to give Marjory a little party on her birthday! Marjory had never had a party of any sort in all her eight years.

“How many tumblers are there left? Five?” she asked.

“No’m, they’s only four,” Clara responded, with unimpaired good humor. Mrs. Fields made a little gesture of despair. They might have gotten through the month with five, but they could not do with four, as Jack’s mother and her own sisters might drop in at any meal.

“It—it doesn’t seem fair!” she cried to herself. “Jack works so hard, and we get along on so little! It’s dreadful to have your happiness depend on a few dollars. I don’t see how I can do it—I couldn’t give Marjory a party, and not have the table pretty.”

She went upstairs, and counted over the little hoard she had saved with so much self-denial. She heard a door slam downstairs, and the sound of eager footsteps coming up.

“Mother! mother! Lottie Pritchard’s come home with me, and may we have a party, and a lump of sugar apiece in the water? And a piece of bread cut in little squares?”

“And two pieces of gingerbread,” Mrs. Fields added.

Marjory danced happily about the room, and then flung ecstatic arms about her mother’s neck. “It will be lovely!” she cried. “I think parties are the nicest things!”

The eager steps flew downstairs again, and presently Mrs. Fields heard voices under her window. She looked down at Marjory’s little table set with two odd saucers, one cracked cup, and one cup without a handle. Marjory was stirring the sugar for Lottie’s “tea,” and her voice rose happily through the soft air:—

“I’m giving you the cracked cup ’cause it looks nicer, but you’ll have to be careful. I can’t have any more to play with till Clara breaks one the right way—usually she breaks them all to pieces, you know. She doesn’t remember about me. But mother says it isn’t dishes and things, it’s loving that counts, and this cup is very full of loving.”

Lottie took the cracked cup carefully. Her small face was full of delight. “That’s why I like your house,” she said. “It’s full of lovings.”

With a sudden gesture, Mrs. Fields closed the old purse. And she had thought that Marjory’s party depended on money!—Selected.