It was summer and it was June. There was to be a picnic, and Elizabeth was

going.

Grandmother Brady had managed it. It seemed to her that, if Elizabeth

could go, her cup of pride would be full to overflowing; so after much

argument, pro and con, with her daughter and Lizzie, she set herself down

to pen the invitation. Aunt Nan was decidedly against it. She did not wish

to have Lizzie outshone. She had been working nights for two weeks on an

elaborate organdie, with pink roses all over it, for Lizzie to wear. It

had yards and yards of cheap lace and insertion, and a whole bolt of pink

ribbons of various widths. The hat was a marvel of impossible roses, just

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calculated for the worst kind of a wreck if a thunder-shower should come

up at a Sunday-school picnic. Lizzie's mother was even thinking of getting

her a pink chiffon parasol to carry; but the family treasury was well-nigh

depleted, and it was doubtful whether that would be possible. After all

that, it did not seem pleasant to have Lizzie put in the shade by a

fine-lady cousin in silks and jewels.

But Grandmother Brady had waited long for her triumph. She desired above

all things to walk among her friends, and introduce her granddaughter,

Elizabeth Bailey, and inadvertently remark: "You must have seen me

granddaughter's name in the paper often, Mrs. Babcock. She was giving a

party in Rittenhouse Square the other day."

Elizabeth would likely be married soon, and perhaps go off somewhere away

from Philadelphia--New York or Europe, there was no telling what great

fortune might come to her. Now the time was ripe for triumph if ever, and

when things are ripe they must be picked. Mrs. Brady proceeded to pick.

She gathered together at great pains pen, paper, and ink. A pencil would

be inadequate when the note was going to Rittenhouse Square. She sat down

when Nan and Lizzie had left for their day's work, and constructed her

sentences with great care.

"Dear Bessie--" Elizabeth had never asked her not to call her that,

although she fairly detested the name. But still it had been her mother's

name, and was likely dear to her grandmother. It seemed disloyalty to her

mother to suggest that she be called "Elizabeth." So Grandmother Brady

serenely continued to call her "Bessie" to the end of her days. Elizabeth

decided that to care much about such little things, in a world where there

were so many great things, would be as bad as to give one's mind entirely

over to the pursuit of fashion.

The letter proceeded laboriously: "Our Sunday school is going to have a picnic out to Willow

Grove. It's on Tuesday. We're going in the trolley. I'd be

pleased if you would go 'long with us. We will spend the day,

and take our dinner and supper along, and wouldn't get home till

late; so you could stay overnight here with us, and not go back

home till after breakfast. You needn't bring no lunch; fer we've

got a lot of things planned, and it ain't worth while. But if

you wanted to bring some candy, you might. I ain't got time to

make any, and what you buy at our grocery might not be fine

enough fer you. I want you to go real bad. I've never took my

two granddaughters off to anything yet, and your Grandmother

Bailey has you to things all the time. I hope you can manage to

come. I am going to pay all the expenses. Your old Christian

Deaver you used to 'tend is going to be there; so you'll have a

good time. Lizzie has a new pink organdie, with roses on her

hat; and we're thinking of getting her a pink umbreller if it

don't cost too much. The kind with chiffon flounces on it.

You'll have a good time, fer there's lots of side-shows out to

Willow Grove, and we're going to see everything there is to see.

There's going to be some music too. A man with a name that

sounds like swearing is going to make it. I don't remember it

just now, but you can see it advertised round on the

trolley-cars. He comes to Willow Grove every year. Now please

let me hear if you will go at once, as I want to know how much

cake to make.




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