to get all the people in to-night," Edith
Slater said gravely as the family sat at supper. "I am afraid the walls
will be bulged out to-morrow."

"The new chicken-house and the cellar will do for the overflow
meetings," George remarked.

"I borrow the pantry if it comes to a crush, you and I, Camilla," Peter
Slater said, helping himself to another piece of pie. Camilla had come
out in the afternoon to help with the preparations.

"No, Camilla is my partner," Fred said severely. "Peter is growing up
too fast, don't you think so, mother? Since I lent him my razor to play
with there's no end to the airs he gives himself. I think he should go
to bed at eight o'clock to-night, same as other nights."

Peter laughed scornfully, but Nellie interposed.

"You boys needn't quarrel over Camilla for Jim Russell is coming, and
when Camilla sees him, what chance do you suppose you'll have?"

"And when Jim sees Camilla, what chance will you have, Nell?" George
asked.

"Not one in a hundred; but I am prepared for the worst," Nellie
answered, good-naturedly.

"That means she has asked Tom Motherwell," Peter explained.

Then Mrs. Slater told them to hurry along with their supper for the
people would soon be coming.

It was Mrs. Slater who had planned the party. Mrs. Slater was the
leading spirit in everything in the household that required dash and
daring. Hers was the dominant voice, though nothing louder than a
whisper had been heard from her for years. She laughed in a whisper,
she cried in a whisper. Yet in some way her laugh was contagious, and
her tears brought comfort to those with whom she wept.

When she proposed the party the girls foresaw difficulties. The house
was small--there were so many to ask--it was a busy time.

Mrs. Slater stood firm.

"Ask everybody," she whispered. "Nobody minds being crowded at a party.
I was at a party once where we had to go outside to turn around, the
house was so small. I'll never forget what a good time we had."

Mr. Slater was dressed and ready for anything long before the time had
come for the guests to arrive. An hour before he had sat down
resignedly and said, "Come, girls, do as you think best with the old
man, scrub him, polish him, powder him, blacken his eyebrows, do not
spare him, he's yours," and the girls had laughingly accepted the
privilege.

George, whose duty it was to attend to the lamps for the occasion, came
in with a worried look, on his usually placid fac