shall never ask him any more."

"That would do. He'd be sorry not to come to the dinner-ball, wouldn't
he?"

"I guess he would! we'll have the splendidest things ever seen, won't
we? Real soup with a ladle and a tureem [she meant tureen] and a little
bird for turkey, and gravy, and all kinds of nice vegytubbles." Daisy
never could say vegetables properly, and had given up trying.

"It is 'most three, and we ought to dress," said Nan, who had arranged a
fine costume for the occasion, and was anxious to wear it.

"I am the mother, so I shan't dress up much," said Daisy, putting on a
night-cap ornamented with a red bow, one of her aunt's long skirts, and
a shawl; a pair of spectacles and large pocket handkerchief completed
her toilette, making a plump, rosy little matron of her.

Nan had a wreath of artificial flowers, a pair of old pink slippers, a
yellow scarf, a green muslin skirt, and a fan made of feathers from the
duster; also, as a last touch of elegance, a smelling-bottle without any
smell in it.

"I am the daughter, so I rig up a good deal, and I must sing and dance,
and talk more than you do. The mothers only get the tea and be proper,
you know."

A sudden very loud knock caused Miss Smith to fly into a chair, and fan
herself violently, while her mamma sat bolt upright on the sofa, and
tried to look quite calm and "proper." Little Bess, who was on a visit,
acted the part of maid, and opened the door, saying with a smile, "Wart
in, gemplemun; it's all weady."

In honor of the occasion, the boys wore high paper collars, tall
black hats, and gloves of every color and material, for they were an
afterthought, and not a boy among them had a perfect pair.

"Good day, mum," said Demi, in a deep voice, which was so hard to keep
up that his remarks had to be extremely brief.

Every one shook hands and then sat down, looking so funny, yet so sober,
that the gentlemen forgot their manners, and rolled in their chairs with
laughter.

"Oh, don't!" cried Mrs. Smith, much distressed.

"You can't ever come again if you act so," added Miss Smith, rapping Mr.
Bangs with her bottle because he laughed loudest.

"I can't help it, you look so like fury," gasped Mr. Bangs, with most
uncourteous candor.

"So do you, but I shouldn't be so rude as to say so. He shan't come to
the dinner-ball, shall he, Daisy?" cried Nan, indignantly.

"I think we had better dance now. Did you bring your fiddle, sir?" asked
Mrs. Smith, try