swung open, and Allie appeared on the
threshold.

"Please come out to supper, now," she said shyly, as she met her
mother's surprised glance.

There was another pause of uncertainty; then Mr. Everett offered his arm
to Mrs. Fisher, and led the way to the table, where the guests seated
themselves as they wished, gazing, meanwhile, with amused eyes at the
feast before them. A short silence followed, and then the conversation
started up once more, as Mr. Fisher, with one despairing glance at his
wife, attacked the vast ham before him, and Mrs. Fisher began to pour
out the pale, watery effusion which filled the teapot. Allie and
Marjorie were already bestirring themselves to pass the plates and cups
about the table; but all at once Marjorie paused abruptly, with her arm
outstretched, as she gazed blankly this way and that. Then her face grew
red and the sudden tears rushed to her eyes, as she hurried out of the
room, with a gesture to Allie to follow her.

"What is it, Marjorie?" Allie exclaimed in alarm, as the young hostess
sank down into the wood box and buried her face in her hands.

An inarticulate moan was her only answer.

"Marjorie! Marjorie!" she urged again. "Tell me what's the matter. Are
you ill?"

Then Marjorie raised her head for a moment.

"I'm all right," she said, with a great sob of shame; "but what shall we
do, Allie? We ate up all the bread for breakfast, and I forgot to order
any more."

It was late that evening when the guests took their leave; and, as they
went away down the street together, they said, over and over again, that
Mrs. Fisher had never before been half so bright and witty in her talk,
so quick to plan new modes of entertainment. Their hostess watched them
out of sight; then, after an expressive look at her husband, she turned
away from the door, and crossed the hall to Marjorie's room. All was
dark within, as she opened the door and entered; but, as soon as her
eyes had grown accustomed to the gloom, she went up to the bed, and laid
her hand on a small, dark body, curled up on the white spread.

"Marjorie, dear," she said gently.

The childish figure was quivering with suppressed sobs; but there was no
other answer.

"Marjorie," she said again; "don't feel so badly about it, my child."

The tone of motherly sympathy was too much for Marjorie's self-control,
and the tears began to come, thick and fast.

"O mamma," she cried; "truly we didn't mean to. I'm so sorry."

Mrs.