It was the morning Sudie proposed that garden-party, and at Mrs. Brown's country-house. The view overlooked a jumble of village roofs very confusing to any conception of regular thoroughfares, and faced the meeting-house, in much disrepair, because the Masons and Methodists had agreed to put up a lodge and a church together, and had not yet put up something else necessary to such enterprise. The house had just been cleaned: fresh streaks of moisture dried off the porch and mixed with the fragrance of verbenas and the cool pungency of soot from the freshly-cleaned chimneys. The bees droned under the pear trees; the redbirds sang in the cedars; even the black cook, scouring her tins in the kitchen, caught the infection and shouted jubilant doxologies at the top of her voice. Sudie swung in a hammock on the porch. Mrs. Brown read the _Woman in White_, and held a feather-duster over the colored girl red-painting the pavements, as if it were a wand. Then Sue proposed that garden-party that made all the mischief. "But the house just cleaned, and all the carpets to take up!" murmured Mrs. Brown, pursuing the indomitable Miss Holcombe across the page like a flea. "Oh no, mamma: we'll dance out here," said Sue. "This house was just built for fun. It's so"--pouncing on the expressive word--"jolly!" "Well, you must see your aunt," said Mrs. Brown, who dreaded the dowager. "Why?" asked the little rebel. "She'll just say, 'There, child, don't trouble me with details;' and if I put in a lump of sugar or spike of cloves without telling her, she'll snub me before papa for extravagance. Besides, she'll say Bobby Nettles isn't aristocratic; and we can't have a garden-party without Bob." "I don't understand the fuss you girls make over that little fellow," said Mrs. Brown. "Why, he is not as tall as you!" "Yes he is, mamma," answered Sue, laughing at the recollection. "We measured, and Mr. Warrener bumped our heads and drove a hairpin clear into my wits. Bob hasn't any, but he's so accommodating." "Your aunt won't like it," said Mrs. Brown with a peculiar stress on the pronoun. Sue blushed to the roots of her hair and looked a little startled: "La, mamma! I didn't mean that: I don't think of him that way. Little Bob Nettles! Why, mamma!" For all that, little Sue kept laughing to herself and blushing, as if there was something not altogether unpleasant in the thought. Mr. Brown pooh-poohed the necessity of consulting his aunt about his home hospitalities, but thought it only courtesy to inform her of what was contemplated. This he undertook to do, and failed. It was the first offence.