It is the “reminiscence of a happy moment” which my beloved friends of the Legion of Loyal Women ask of me--some moment or event so happy as to be worth the telling. That may not be an easy thing in a life like mine, but there are few things the “Legion” could ask of me that I would not at least try to do. But, dear sisters, I fear I must ask of you patiently to travel far back with me to the little childhood days which knew no care. Patiently, I say, for that was long ago. I lived in the country, a mile or more from the village. Olivia Bruce, my favorite friend, lived in the village. Olivia had “made a party,” and invited twelve little girls, schoolmates and playmates, herself making the thirteenth (we had never learned that there could be bad luck in numbers). It was May, and the party was to be held on “Old Election Day.” Care and thought were given to the occasion. Each guest was to learn a little poem to recite for the first time, as a surprise to the others. There was some effort at costume. We were all to wear aprons alike, from the village store--white, with a pretty vine, and cozy, little, brown birds in the corners. Embroidered? Oh, no! just stamped; but what embroidery has since ever borne comparison with that? Our ages must conform--no one under ten, or over twelve. How glad I was that I had been ten the Christmas before! At length arrangements were completed, and nothing to be wished for but a pleasant day. The morning came, heavy and dark. The thunder rolled, the clouds gathered and broke, and the lightning as if in cruel mockery darted in and out among them, lighting up their ragged edges, or enveloping the whole mass in quivering flame. The rain came down in torrents, and I fear there were torrents of tears as well. Who could give comfort in a disappointment and grief like that? Who, but old Morgan, the gardener, with his poetic prophecy-- “Rain before seven, be clear before ’leven.” I watched the clouds, I watched the clock, but most of all I watched the hopeful face of old Morgan. How long and how dark the morning was! At length, as the clock pointed half-past ten, the clouds broke again, but this time with the bright, clear sun behind them, and the high arching rainbow resting on the tree-tops of the western woods. It was long to wait, even for dinner, and the proper time to go. Finally, all traces of tears were washed away, the toilet made even to the apron and hat, the mother’s kiss given upon the cheek of her restless child with the gentle admonition “Be a good girl!” and, as I sprang from the doorstep striving hard to keep at least one foot on the ground, who shall say that the happiness and joy of that little bit of humanity was not as complete as ever falls to the lot of humanity to be?