NING
DRESSES.]

It was an old-fashioned tea-party, and the guests began to arrive at six
o'clock. There were twenty in all, and they came hurrying in out of the
cold, and up-stairs to remove their heavy wraps, the girls tripping down
again in their dainty evening dresses, while the boys stood about the
doorways in rather an aimless fashion, wondering what they were expected
to do at such a very peculiar tea-party as this seemed to be.

It added to the mystery that each was given a card with his or her name
prettily printed upon it, and a little pencil attached.

"I never heard of anything like it, don't you know," drawled Bronson.
"I'll be hanged if I know what to talk about."

After supper, which was very jolly and effectually broke the ice, Mr.
Franklin made a little speech.

"You are all supposed to be somebody, and no one but my wife knows which
is which," he said. "The object is for each one to guess as many
characters as possible from their conversation, and when you have made
up your mind who some one is, you will write the name on your card, with
the name of the person you are guessing about. When your card is filled
with twenty-four names, which means that you have given a guess about
every one here, you will hand it in. Then the prizes will be bestowed."

"Prizes!" was murmured by the girls; "how lovely!" while the boys looked
relieved as the matter became clearer.

Cynthia turned to her neighbor and began to talk.

"Good-evening!" she said; "did you see anything of my broom? I forgot to
bring it along. Dear me, there's a lot to be done up there," gazing
towards the ceiling; "why didn't I bring it along?"

The neighbor chanced to be Dennis Morgan.

"I haven't seen your broom," he replied, "but I'm going to find out why
you want it. The trouble is, I've come too soon, I think, and I can't
find my way; but I can't tell you where I want to go, or you would guess
me on the spot."

"Ho!" laughed Cynthia; "I know where you want to go. I think you would
like a glass of water, wouldn't you? For I am sure you have burned your
mouth," she added.

Then she wrote on her card: "Dennis Morgan--Man in the Moon."

"Pshaw! How did you guess me so soon? And I haven't the ghost of an idea
who you are. Let me see, you want your broom. I can't imagine why you
need a broom."

"Cobwebs, cobwebs everywhere," murmured Cynthia, as she turned away and
listened to the conversation that was being carried on between Neal a