the christmas holidays brought a welcome respite from the steady grind of school work. and there was every indication, in the westley home, that they were going to be very merry! mrs. westley had one fixed rule for her youngsters: "work while you work and play while you play." so she and uncle johnny, behind carefully closed doors, planned all sorts of jolly surprises for the holiday week.
but jerry had a little secret, too, all of her own. she had written to her mother begging to be allowed to go home "just for christmas." she had had to write two letters; the first, with its burst of longing, had sounded so ungrateful that she had torn it up and had written another. then she waited eagerly, hopefully, for the answer.
it came a few days before christmas, and with it a huge pasteboard box. something told jerry, before she opened the envelope, what her mother had written. her lips quivered.
"...it will be hard for us both, dear child, not to be together on christmas, but it seems unwise for you to go to the trouble and expense of coming home for such a short stay. we are snowed in and you would not have the relaxation that you need after your long weeks of study. then, darling, it would be all the harder to let you go again. i want you to have the jolliest sort of a holiday and i shall be happy thinking each day what my little girl is doing. i have had such nice letters from mrs. westley and mr. john telling all about you--they have been a great comfort to me. we are sending the box with a breath of kettle in it. the bitter-sweet we have been saving for you since last fall...."
when jerry opened the box the room filled with the fragrant odor of pine. in an ecstasy she leaned her face close to the branches and sniffed delightedly; she wanted to cry and she wanted to laugh--it was as though she suddenly had a bit of home right there with her. her disappointment was forgotten. she lifted out the pine and bitter-sweet to put it in every corner of her room, then another thought seized her. except for gyp, practicing in a half-hearted way downstairs, the house was empty. on tiptoe she stole to the different rooms, leaving in each a bit of her pine and a gay cluster of the bitter-sweet.
the postman's ring brought gyp's practice, with one awful discord, to an abrupt finish. in a moment she came bounding up the stairs, two little white envelopes in her hand.
"jerry--we're invited to a real party--pat everett's." she tossed one of the small squares into jerry's lap. "hope to die invitations, just like isobel gets!"
jerry stared at the bit of pasteboard. gyp's delight was principally because it was the first "real" evening party to which she had been invited; it was a milestone in her life--it meant that she was very grown-up.
"jerauld travis--you don't act a bit excited! it will be heaps of fun for pat's father and mother are the jolliest people--and there'll be dancing and boys--and spliffy eats."
"i never went to a party--like that." jerry, with something like awe, lifted the card.
"oh, a party's a party, anywhere," declared gyp loftily, speaking from the wisdom of her newly-acquired dignity.
"and--i haven't anything to wear," added jerry, putting the card down on her desk with the tiniest sigh.
gyp's face clouded; that was too true to be disputed. her own clothes would not fit jerry but isobel's----
"we'll ask isobel to let you----"
"no--no!" cried jerry vehemently. her face flushed. "don't you dare!"
gyp looked aggrieved. "i don't see why not, but if you feel like that--only, it'll spoil the whole party. oh----" she suddenly sniffed. "what's that woodsy smell? where did you get it?"
and the pine and the berries made gyp and jerry forget, for the moment, the everett party.
the holiday frolics began with the appropriate ceremony of consigning all the school books to the depths of a great, carved chest in the library, turning the curious old key in the lock and handing it over to mrs. westley. jerry had demurred, but she recognized, behind all the fun, a real firmness. "every book, my dear! not one of you children must peep inside of the cover of even a--story, until i give back the key." mrs. westley pinched jerry's cheek. "i want to see red rosies again, my dear girl."
christmas eve brought a glad surprise to the family in the unexpected arrival of robert westley. jerry had wondered a little about gyp's father; it was very nice to find him so much like uncle johnny that one liked him at the very first moment. he had, it seemed, resorted to all sorts of expedients to get from valparaiso to his own fireside in time for christmas, but everyone's delight had made it very worth while.
"that's one thing that makes up for father being away so much," explained gyp. "he 'most always just walks in and surprises us and brings the jolliest things from queer places."
on christmas morning jerry opened sleepy eyes to find soft flurries of snow beating against her windows, a piney odor in her nostrils and gyp in a red dressing-gown by the side of her bed.
"merry christmas!" in her arms gyp carried some of the contents of her own christmas stocking. "wake up and see what santa has brought you!"
on the bedpost hung a bulging stocking; queer-shaped packages, tied with red ribbon, were piled close to it, and across the foot of jerry's bed lay a huge box.
"open this first. what is it? i don't know." gyp was as excited as though the box was for her. jerry untied the cord and lifted the cover. within, beneath the folds of tissue paper, lay two pretty dresses, a blue serge school dress and a fluffy, shimmery party frock; beneath them a gay sweater and tam o'shanter. upon a card, enclosed, had been written, plainly in uncle johnny's handwriting: "from santa claus."
jerry did not know that ever since the eventful debate there had been much secret planning between uncle johnny and mrs. westley over her wardrobe. he had realized that night, for the first time, that jerry, in her queer, country-made clothes, was at a disadvantage among the city girls and boys. it was all very well to argue that fine feathers did not make fine birds--uncle johnny knew the heart of a girl well enough to realize how much a pretty ribbon or a neat new dress could help one hold one's own! he had wanted to buy out almost an entire store, but mrs. westley had held him in restraint. "you may offend her and spoil your gift if you make it seem too much," she had warned him.
jerry knew too little of the price of the materials that made up her precious dresses to be distressed with the gift. in rapture she kissed the shimmering blue folds. and gyp executed a mad dance in the middle of the room.
"now you've just got to go to the everett party."
on christmas afternoon mrs. allan walked into the westley home. she and her husband had come to the everetts for the holidays. she brought a little gift to jerry from her mother. it was a daintily embroidered set of collar and cuffs. jerry pictured her mother in the lamplight of the dear living-room at sunnyside, working the shining needle in and out and loving every stitch! oh, it was much nicer than the grandest gift the stores could offer.
christmas past, gyp and jerry thought of nothing but the everett party. isobel, flitting here and there like a pretty butterfly, divided her enthusiasm. she indulged in a patronizing attitude--she would go, of course, to the everetts', though it was a kids' party and she'd probably be bored to death.
but within a few hours of the great event a horrible realization overtook gyp's and jerry's golden anticipation. santa claus had forgotten to put any dancing shoes in the christmas box!
the two girls shook their heads dolefully over jerry's three pairs of square-toed shoes.
"i just can't wear one of them," cried jerry.
gyp would not be disappointed. "then you'll have to squeeze your feet into my last summer's pumps. they won't hurt very much, and anyway, when the party begins you'll forget them!"
jerry wanted so much to wear the new blue dress that she was persuaded. gyp helped her get them on and jerry stumped about in them--"to get used to them!"
"now, do they hurt awfully?" gyp asked, in a tone that said, "of course they don't," and jerry, fascinated by the strange girl she saw in the mirror, answered absently: "oh, they just feel queer!"
anyway, going to a "real" party was too exciting to permit of thinking of one's feet. jerry moved as though in a dream. like gyp, she felt delightfully grown-up. the spacious, old-fashioned everett home was gay with holiday greens, in one corner an orchestra played, patricia with her mother and her older sister greeted each guest in such a jolly way that one felt in a moment that one was going to have the best sort of a time.
for awhile, very happily, jerry trailed gyp among the young people, exchanging merry greetings. then suddenly dreadful pains began to cut sharply through her feet; they climbed higher and higher until they quivered up and down her spine. poor jerry found it hard to keep the tears from her eyes. she limped to a half-hidden corner near the orchestra, and slipped off the offending pumps.
isobel spied her in her hiding-place. isobel did not know about the pumps--she thought jerry had retreated there from shyness. a disdainful smile curled her pretty lips. she had had moments, since the debate, when her conscience had bothered her, the more so because jerry had not told what had happened; but, as is sometimes the way, after such moments, she had hardened her heart all the more toward jerry. she was savagely jealous, too, over uncle johnny's christmas box to jerry; she had figured that the dresses had cost a great deal more than the bracelet he had given her! so into her head flashed a plan that should have found no place there, for isobel was indisputably the prettiest girl in the room and the most-sought-for dancing partner.
she beckoned gaily to dana king. she would kill two birds with one stone, she thought--though not in just those words; she would have the pleasant satisfaction of seeing jerry make a ridiculous figure of herself trying to dance (for jerry had told her she only knew the "old-fashioned" dances) and she would see dana king embarrassed before all the others! isobel had never forgiven him for championing jerry the night of the debate.
"will you do me a favor, dana?" she asked sweetly. "dance with that poor jerry travis over there. she's perfectly miserable."
dana hastened, politely, to do what isobel asked. he had never exchanged a word with jerry; however, after the debate, no introduction seemed necessary. when jerry saw him approach a flood of color dyed her cheeks--not from shyness, but because she did not know what to do with her unshod feet!
"will you dance this, miss travis?"
jerry lifted eyes dark with laughter. she did not look in the least "perfectly miserable." "i--i--can't!" she put out the tips of her unstockinged toes. then she told him how she had had to wear gyp's pumps. "and they hurt so dreadfully that i slipped them off and now nothing'll get them back on. i guess i've got to stay here the rest of my life."
there was something so refreshing in jerry's frankness and unaffectedness that dana king sat down eagerly beside her.
"let me sit here and talk, then. say, what on earth was the matter with you the night of the debate? was it your shoes--then? you could have talked--i know!"
he spoke with such conviction that jerry's eyes shone.
"no, it wasn't--entirely--my shoes. something did happen--but i can't tell. isn't this the jolliest party? i never went to one before--like this. there aren't this many people in all miller's notch."
isobel, watching jerry's corner, grew very angry when she saw that dana king lingered with jerry. she wondered what on earth jerry could be saying that made him laugh so heartily; they were acting as though they had known one another all their lives.
just as dana king was asking jerry what she would do if the midnight hour struck and found her slipperless, mrs. allan discovered them. she had to hear about the pumps, too.
"you blessed child, i'll get a pair of pat's--they'd fit anything!" she returned in a few moments, two shiny, patent-leather toes protruding from the folds of her spangled scarf. pat's pumps slipped easily over jerry's poor swollen feet.
"there, now, cinderella, let's go and get some ice cream." and dana king led jerry through the dancers, past isobel and a fat boy whose curly red head only reached to her shoulder, to the dining-room where, around small tables, boys and girls were devouring all sorts of goodies.
the party was spoiled for isobel; not so for gyp who, besides having had the jolliest sort of a time herself, was bursting with satisfaction because jerry had "captured" the most popular boy in the room.
"he sat out six dances with you--i counted! he took you to supper i heard him ask you, jerry travis, if you were going out to the school frolic. and why did he call you cinderella?" asked gyp as the young people rode homeward.
jerry had no intention of telling isobel of the ignominy of the pumps, so she answered evasively: "because it was my first party, i guess," then, with a long, happy sigh, she cuddled back against gyp's shoulder and watched the street lamps flash past. oh, surely the wishing-rock had opened a wonderful new world to little jerry!
"did you tell him it was your first party?"
"yes. why?"
"oh--nothing. i wouldn't have been honest 'nough to--i'd have pretended i'd gone to lots."
"i'm not going to the frolic," isobel broke in. "i'm too old for such things."
gyp straightened indignantly.
"too old to coast? well, i hope i never grow as old as that!" she cried.
"you never will!" was isobel's withering answer.
