ter supper, Dolly put a fine lace tucker over the edging at the
neck of her frock, and found a blue sash, and curled her hair so as to
make it all wavy at the edge of her forehead; and there was a very
sweet, attractive girl, if she wasn't a beauty.

Mr. Theodore Whitney seemed very much amused and pleased, and politely
inquired if he might be Miss Underhill's escort. Delia looked unusually
nice in her new brown silk and some beautiful old lace Aunt Clem had
given her.

People did not wait until ten o'clock for "functions" to begin; neither
did they give them that uneuphonious name. Hanny had read and heard a
good deal since her first visit to genius in the plain, poor, little
cottage; and this certainly had more of the true aspect one connects
with poesy. The two rooms were daintily furnished; pictures everywhere.
Mr. Osgood was a painter, and his portraits were quite celebrated. The
curtains fell with a graceful sweep. The light brocade of the chairs
threw out glisteny shades; the little tables set about held books and
engravings, and great portfolios leaned against the wall. There was a
case of choicely-bound books, and an open piano. Flowers were in vases
on brackets, and low, quaint china bowls. It was like a lovely picture
to the little girl; but she felt afraid of the people talking so
earnestly, and wondered if they were all poets and authors.

The party greeted their hostess, and Hanny was introduced. Was it the
glamour of the summer and the blue gown that had made Mrs. Osgood so
lovely sitting there in the carriage? Now she was thin, and her hair was
banded down in the fashion of the day; then it had been flying in
ringlets. Her gown was black silk, and that made her look rather grave;
but when she smiled, all the old sweetness was there. Hanny knew her
then.

Delia took charge of Hanny, and seated her by a table with a book of
choice engravings. Ben had found some one he knew, and Mr. Whitney had
gone to talk to General Morris. A tall young lady came over and began
complimenting Miss Whitney on her story in Godey's, and Delia flushed up
with pleasure. Then she begged to introduce her to a friend. She wrote
verses only, and her friend had composed music for them.

Hanny kept watching her hostess. She knew some of the guests, from
having had them pointed out to her in the street. There was Mr. Greeley,
thin of face and careless of attire in those early days. In the street
he could always be told by a shagg