Why Not Ask Miss Price by Lucy M Montgomery

Books at bedtime by calming anxiety. Why not ask Miss Price by Lucy M. Montgomery?

Francis Allen came in from the post office and laid an open letter on the table beside her mother who was making minced meat. Alma Allen looked up from the cake she was brostling to ask, "What is the matter? You look as though the letter contained unwelcome news, Fent?" So it does. It is from Art Clara to say that she cannot come. She has received a telegram that her sister-in-law is very ill and that she must go to her at once. Mrs. Allen looked regretful and Alma cast a spoon away with a tragic care. "That is too bad. I feel as if our celebration was spoiled, but I suppose it can't be helped." No, agreed Francis, 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, Art Clara says he will come down from stilettin 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 quite little smile all to herself and went on chopping so it. She had handed the Thanksgiving dinner over to Francis and Alma this year. They were to attend to all the preparations and invite all the guests. But although they made of planned several innovations in the dinner, they had made no change in the usual list of guests. It must just be the time-honoured family affair Francis had declared. If we begin inviting other folks, there is no knowing where to draw the line. We can't have more than 14, and some of our friends would be sure to feel slighted. So the same old list it was. But now Art Clara, dear Jolly Art 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 he would have to have his sister too, said Francis. And there is no reason for asking any one of our girlchums more than another. "Mother, will you 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 Mrs. Price?

Mrs. Price, they had never thought of her. She was the pale, timid-looking little teacher in the primary department of the Hazelwood School. Mrs. Price repeated Francis slowly. "My mother, we hardly know her. She is dreadfully dull and quiet, I think." "And so shy," said Alma. "Why, at the ward's party the other night, she looks startled at 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 the cheerless little boarding house where she lives.

Of course, if you would like to have her, mother, we will ask her," said Francis. "No, girls," said Mrs. Allen seriously. "You must not ask Mrs. Price on my account. If you do not feel prepared to make a welcome for your own say." I had hoped that your own kind heart might have prompted you to extend the 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. Francis and Alma had both flushed, and they now remain silent for a few minutes. Then Francis sprang up and threw her arms around her mum. "You are right, mother dear, as you always are, and we are very selfish girls. We will ask Mrs. Price and try to give her a nice time. I'll go down this very evening and see her." In the great wildlife of the chilly autumn evening, Bertha Price walked home to her boarding house, a pale little face-paylor, and her grey eyes sadder than ever. Only two days until Thanksgiving, but there would be no real Thanksgiving for her. Why? She asked herself rebelliously when they seemed so much love in the world, was she denied her share. Her landlady met her in the hall. Miss Allen is in the parlour Miss Price, she wants to see you. Bertha went into the parlour somewhat reluctantly. She had met Francis Allen only once or twice, and she was secretly almost afraid of the handsome, vivacious girl who was so different from herself. "I am sorry you have had to wait, Miss Allen," she said, "Charlie. I went to see a pupil of mine, who is ill, and I was kept later than I expected. My errand won't take very long," said Francis Brightley. "Mother wants you to spend Thanksgiving day with us, Mrs. Price. If you have no other engagement, we will have a few other guests, but nobody outside our own family except Mr. Sealy, who is the law partner and intimate friend of my brother Ernest in town. You'll come, won't you?" "Oh, thank you, yes," said Bertha, impoliced surprise.

"I should be very glad to go. Why? It is so nice of you to think of it. I expected my Thanksgiving day to be lonely and sad, not a bit Thanksgiving." "We shall expect you then," said Francis, "with a cordial little hand squeeze." "Come early in the morning, and we will have a really friendly, pleasant day." "That night," Francis said to her mother and sister, "you never saw such a transfigured face as Miss Price's when I asked her up. She looked positively pretty, such a lovely pink came out of her cheeks and her eyes shone like stars. She reminded me so much of somebody I've seen, but I can't think who it is. I'm so glad we've asked a hear for Thanksgiving."

Thanksgiving came, as bright and beautiful as a day could be, and the Alan's guests came with it. Bertha Price was among them, paler and shy than ever. Ernest Alan and his friend Maxwell Sealey came out from town on the morning train. After all the necessary introductions have been made, Francis flew to the kitchen. I found out who it is that Miss Price reminds me of, she said, as she bustled about the range. It's max ceiling. You needn't laugh, pal. It's a fact. I noticed at the minute I introduced them. He's lump and prosperous and she's pinched and pale, but there's a resemblance nevertheless. Look for yourself and see if it isn't so. Back in the big cherry parlor, the Thanksgiving guests were musing themselves in various ways. Max Sealey had given a nod little start when he was introduced to Miss Price, and as soon as possible, he followed her to the corner to where she had taken refuge. Ernest Alan was out in the kitchen talking to the sisters, the uncles and cousins and aunts were all chatting to each other, and Mr Sealey and Miss Price were quite unnoticed. You will excuse me, won't you, Miss Price? If I ask you something about yourself, he said eagerly. The truth is, you look strikingly like someone I used to know that I feel sure that you must be related to her. I do not think I have any relatives of your name. Have you any of mine? Birth of flesh.

Has it hated for an instant? Then said frankly, "No, I don't think so, but I may as well tell you that Price is not my real name, and I do not know what it is. Although, I think it begins with her. I believe that my parents died when I was about three years old, and I was then taken to an orphaness island. The next year, I was taken from there and adopted by Mrs. Price. She was very kind to me and treated me as her own daughter. I had a happy home with her, and although we were poor, Mrs. Price wished me to bear her name, and I did so. She never told me of my true surname, perhaps she did not know. She died when I was sixteen, and since then I have been quite alone in the world. That is all I know about myself. Maxiely was plainly excited. What do you think your real name begins with S, he asked?

I have a watch which belonged to my mother with a monogram BS on the case. It was left with a matron of the asylum, and she gave it to Mrs. Price for me. Here it is. Maxiely almost snatched the old-fashioned little silver watch from her hand and opened the case. An exclamation escaped him as he pointed some scratches on the inner side. They looked like the initials M A S. Let me tell you a story now, he said. My name is Maxiely. My father died when I was seven years old, and my mother a year later. My little sister Bertha, then three years old and I, were left quite alone and very poor. We had no relatives. I was adopted by a well-to-do old bachelor who had known my father. My sister was taken to an orphan asylum in a city some distance away. I was very much attached to her and grieved bitterly over our parting. My adopted father was very kind to me and gave me a good education. I did not forget my sister, and as soon as I could I went to the asylum. I found that she had been taken away long before, and I could not even discover who had adopted her for the original building, with all its records had been destroyed by fire two years previous to my visit. I never could find any clue to her whereabouts and long since gave up all hope of finding her, but I have found her at last. You are Bertha, S. My little sister. Oh, can it be possible?

More than possible. It is certain. You are the image of my mother, as I remember her, and as an old daggerotype I have pictures of her. And this is her watch. See, I scratched my own initials on the case one day. There is no doubt in the world. Oh, Bertha, are you half as glad as I am? Glad! Bertha's eyes were shining like stars.

She tried to smile, but burst into tears instead, and her head went down on her brother's shoulder. By this time, everybody in the room was staring at the extraordinary tabloon, an earnest coming through the hall gave a whistle of astonishment that brought the two in the corner to a sense of their surroundings. I haven't suddenly gone crazy, Ernest Olfheve, who said Max. Ladies and gentlemen, all this little schoolman was introduced to you as Miss Price, but that was a mistake. Let me introduce her again as Miss Bertha Seely, my long-lost and newly found sister. Well, they had an amazing time then, of course. They laughed and questioned and explained until the dinner was in the imminent danger of getting stone cold on the dining room table.

Luckily, Alma and Frances remembered it just in the nick of time, and they all got out somehow and into their places. It was a splendid dinner, but I believe that Maxwell and Bertha Seely didn't know what they were eating, any more than it should have been sawdust. However, the rest of the guests made up for that and did full justice to the girl's cookery. In the afternoon, they all went to church and at last two hearts were truly and devoutly thankful that day. When the dusk came, Ernest and Maxwell had to catch the last train for town and the other guests went home with the exception of Bertha, who was to stay all night, just as soon as her resignation could be affected. She was to join her brother. Meanwhile, I'll see about getting a house to put you in, Sid Maxx. No more boarding out for me, Ernest, you may consider me as a family man henceforth.

Frances and Alma talked it all over before they went to sleep at night. Just think Sid Frances. If we hadn't asked her here today, she might never have found her brother. It's all mothers doing, bless her. Things do happen like a story book sometimes, don't they out? And didn't I tell you? They looked alike.