Penelope's Party Waist Page #2

"Penelope's Party Waist" is a charming children's story by Lucy Maud Montgomery that follows the adventures of a spirited young girl named Penelope. Eager to create a memorable party, Penelope, with her imaginative flair, encounters a series of mishaps and surprises that test her creativity and resilience. Through her journey, readers are treated to themes of friendship, the magic of childhood, and the importance of embracing imperfections. Montgomery's delightful prose and vivid character portrayals make this tale a heartwarming exploration of a young girl's determination to bring joy to her special day.

• Short story

								

had flashed before her mental sight. That night, after Penelope had
gone to bed, Doris ripped the lining out of Grandmother Hunter's silk
quilt.

"If Aunt Adella saw me now!" she laughed softly to herself as she
worked.

In the three following evenings Doris made the waist. She thought it a
wonderful bit of good luck that Penelope went out each of the evenings
to study some especially difficult problems with a school chum.

"It will be such a nice surprise for her," the sister mused
jubilantly.

Penelope was surprised as much as the tender, sisterly heart could
wish when Doris flashed out upon her triumphantly on the evening of
the party with the black skirt nicely pressed and re-hung, and the
prettiest waist imaginable--a waist that was a positive "creation" of
dainty rose-besprinkled silk, with a girdle and knots of black velvet.

"Doris Hunter, you are a veritable little witch! Do you mean to tell
me that you conjured that perfectly lovely thing for me out of the
lining of Grandmother Hunter's quilt?"

So Penelope went to Blanche's party and her dress was the admiration
of every girl there. Mrs. Fairweather, who was visiting Mrs. Anderson,
looked closely at it also. She was a very sweet old lady, with silver
hair, which she wore in delightful, old-fashioned puffs, and she had
very bright, dark eyes. Penelope thought her altogether charming.

"She looks as if she had just stepped out of the frame of some lovely
old picture," she said to herself. "I wish she belonged to me. I'd
just love to have a grandmother like her. And I do wonder who it is
I've seen who looks so much like her."

A little later on the knowledge came to her suddenly, and she thought
with inward surprise: Why, it is Doris, of course. If my sister Doris
lives to be seventy years old and wears her hair in pretty white
puffs, she will look exactly as Mrs. Fairweather does now.

Mrs. Fairweather asked to have Penelope introduced to her, and when
they found themselves alone together she said gently, "My dear, I am
going to ask a very impertinent question. Will you tell me where you
got the silk of which your waist is made?"

Poor Penelope's pretty young face turned crimson. She was not troubled
with false pride by any means, but she simply could not bring herself
to tell Mrs. Fairweather that her waist was made out of the lining of
an old heirloom quilt.

"My Aunt Adella gave me--gave us--the material," she stammered. "And
my elder sister Doris made the waist for me. I think the silk once
belonged to my Grandmother Hunter."

"What was your grandmother's maiden name?" asked Mrs. Fairweather
eagerly.

"Penelope Saverne. I am named after her."

Mrs. Fairweather suddenly put her arm about Penelope and drew the
young girl to her, her lovely old face aglow with delight and
tenderness.

"Then you are my grandniece," she said. "Your grandmother was my
half-sister. When I saw your dress, I felt sure you were related to
her. I should recognize that rosebud silk if I came across it in
Thibet. Penelope Saverne was the daughter of my mother by her first
husband. Penelope was four years older than I was, but we were
devoted to each other. Oddly enough, our birthdays fell on the same
day, and when Penelope was twenty and I sixteen, my father gave us
each a silk dress of this very material. I have mine yet.

"Soon after this our mother died and our household was broken up.
Penelope went to live with her aunt and I went West with Father. This
was long ago, you know, when travelling and correspondence were not
the easy, matter-of-course things they are now. After a few years I
lost touch with my half-sister. I married out West and have lived
there all my life. I never knew what had become of Penelope. But
tonight, when I saw you come in in that waist made of the rosebud
silk, the whole past rose before me and I felt like a girl again. My
dear, I am a very lonely old woman, with nobody belonging to me. You
don't know how delighted I am to find that I have two grandnieces."

Penelope had listened silently, like a girl in a dream. Now she patted
Mrs. Fairweather's soft old hand affectionately.

"It sounds like a storybook," she said gaily. "You must come and see
Doris. She is such a darling sister. I wouldn't have had this waist if
it hadn't been for her. I will tell you the whole truth--I don't mind
it now. Doris made my party waist for me out of the lining of an old
silk quilt of Grandmother Hunter's that Aunt Adella sent us."

Mrs. Fairweather did go to see Doris the very next day, and quite
wonderful things came to pass from that interview. Doris and Penelope
found their lives and plans changed in the twinkling of an eye. They
were both to go and live with Aunt Esther--as Mrs. Fairweather had
said they must call her. Penelope was to have, at last, her longed-for
musical education and Doris was to be the home girl.

"You must take the place of my own dear little granddaughter," said
Aunt Esther. "She died six years ago, and I have been so lonely
since."

When Mrs. Fairweather had gone, Doris and Penelope looked at each
other.

"Pinch me, please," said Penelope. "I'm half afraid I'll wake up and
find I have been dreaming. Isn't it all wonderful, Doris Hunter?"

Doris nodded radiantly.

"Oh, Penelope, think of it! Music for you--somebody to pet and fuss
over for me--and such a dear, sweet aunty for us both!"

"And no more contriving party waists out of old silk linings," laughed
Penelope. "But it was very fortunate that you did it for once, sister
mine. And no more poverty puckers," she concluded.
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