But when thou makest a feast, call the poor,
the maimed, the lame, the blind, and thou shalt be blessed, for they
cannot recompense thee."
"Jack! Jack! Jack!" exclaimed Cousin Susy.
"I was only repeating my last golden text," answered Jack. "We don't
often have to give a feast, and as it was so extraordinary," said Jack,
saying the big word impressively, "I thought of my verse. I suppose we'd
better ask the people mother likes, and they are the poor, the halt, the
blind, and the deaf; for we haven't any rich neighbors, nor any kinsmen,
except you, dear Cousin Susy."
"Well, I'm a kinswoman and a neighbor, dear, but I'm not rich. Now, let
me see," said Miss Susy, smoothing out the shining white folds of Kitty
Hardy's train. "We will send notes, and you must write them. There is
old Ralph, the peddler, who is too deaf to hear if you shout at him ever
and ever so much, but he'll enjoy seeing a good time; and we'll have
Florrie Maynard, with her crutches and her banjo, and she'll have a
happy time and sing for us; and Mrs. Maloney, the laundress, with her
blind Patsy. I don't see Jackie, but you'll have a Scripture party after
all. Run along and write your letters, and to-night we'll trot around
and deliver them."
This was the letter Jack wrote:
"DEAR FRIEND:--My mother's going to have a birthday next
Saturday night, and she'll be thirty-six years old. That's pretty
old. So I'm going to give her a surprise birthday party, and Cousin
Susy's helping me with the surprise.
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