Why Not Ask Miss Price?
by
Frances Allen came in from the post office and laid an open letter on the table beside her mother, who was making mincemeat. Alma Allen looked up from the cake she was frosting to ask, “What is the matter? You look as if your letter contained unwelcome news, Fan.”
“So it does. It is from Aunt Clara, to say she cannot come. She has received a telegram that her sister-in-law is very ill and she must go to her at once.”
Mrs. Allen looked regretful, and Alma cast her spoon away with a tragic air.
“That is too bad. I feel as if our celebration were spoiled. But I suppose it can’t be helped.”
“No,” agreed Frances, sitting down and beginning to peel apples. “So there is no use in lamenting, or I would certainly sit down and cry, I feel so disappointed.”
“Is Uncle Frank coming?”
“Yes, Aunt Clara says he will come down from Stellarton if Mrs. King does not get worse. So that will leave just one vacant place. We must invite someone to fill it up. Who shall it be?”
Both girls looked rather puzzled. Mrs. Allen smiled a quiet little smile all to herself and went on chopping suet. She had handed the Thanksgiving dinner over to Frances and Alma this year. They were to attend to all the preparations and invite all the guests. But although they had made or planned several innovations in the dinner itself, they had made no change in the usual list of guests.
“It must just be the time-honoured family affair,” Frances had declared. “If we begin inviting other folks, there is no knowing when to draw the line. We can’t have more than fourteen, and some of our friends would be sure to feel slighted.”
So the same old list it was. But now Aunt Clara–dear, jolly Aunt Clara, whom everybody in the connection loved and admired–could not come, and her place must be filled.
“We can’t invite the new minister, because we would have to have his sister, too,” said Frances. “And there is no reason for asking any one of our girl chums more than another.”
“Mother, you will have to help us out,” said Alma. “Can’t you suggest a substitute guest?”
Mrs. Allen looked down at the two bright, girlish faces turned up to her and said slowly, “I think I can, but I am not sure my choice will please you. Why not ask Miss Price?”
Miss Price! They had never thought of her! She was the pale, timid-looking little teacher in the primary department of the Hazelwood school.
“Miss Price?” repeated Frances slowly. “Why, Mother, we hardly know her. She is dreadfully dull and quiet, I think.”
“And so shy,” said Alma. “Why, at the Wards’ party the other night she looked startled to death if anyone spoke to her. I believe she would be frightened to come here for Thanksgiving.”
“She is a very lonely little creature,” said Mrs. Allen gently, “and doesn’t seem to have anyone belonging to her. I think she would be very glad to get an invitation to spend Thanksgiving elsewhere than in that cheerless little boarding-house where she lives.”
“Of course, if you would like to have her, Mother, we will ask her,” said Frances.
“No, girls,” said Mrs. Allen seriously. “You must not ask Miss Price on my account, if you do not feel prepared to make her welcome for her own sake. I had hoped that your own kind hearts might have prompted you to extend a little Thanksgiving cheer in a truly Thanksgiving spirit to a lonely, hard-working girl whose life I do not think is a happy one. But there, I shall not preach. This is your dinner, and you must please yourselves as to your guests.”
Frances and Alma had both flushed, and they now remained silent for a few minutes. Then Frances sprang up and threw her arms around her mother.