to the party that she could not even wait to have the frock fastened, but began hopping towards the doorway with one arm thrust through the wrong sleeve hole. “Let us in!” she cried, and pounded on the door with her fist. “Let us in! We want to dance!”
The door swung open, and a mole, dressed in black velvet, stood on the threshold. He was plainly one of the ushers, for he wore a white flower in his buttonhole and pink kid gloves.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“We want to dance,” said Jensina, still struggling with her frock, which being hindside before, refused to go over her head.
“Have you an invitation?” asked the mole.
“Certainly we are invited,” returned Poor Cecco, and he pointed to the placard.
“Ah!” said the mole. Stepping outside, he turned the placard round so as to show the other side. It now read, in large clear letters:
YOU ARE NOT INVITED
And without so much as a further glance at them he went back into the molehill and slammed the door.
“Mean hateful thing!” exclaimed Jensina, ready to cry with disappointment. “Who wants to go to their old ball anyhow!” And pulling off her frock again she flung it
