the post brought a dozen or so of polite notes which sent
the hearts of the hospitable pair into their mouths. The first they
opened was from the Duke of Somewhere, who gravely "accepted with
pleasure Mr and Miss Oliphant's polite invitation."

Several of the others were acceptances--one or two refusals.

"Five scratched already," said Tom. "That'll make it all right for the
herrings."

In the afternoon Dr Brandram called. He carried his invitation card in
his hand.

"What game are you at now?" he demanded.

"Oh, I say, Doctor, keep it quiet! You'll come, won't you? There'll be
a tidy spread--enough to go all round; and the Duke and his lot are
coming, and we expect the Grenadiers."

"Doctor," said Jill, "we shall depend on you so much. Do come early!"

Dr Brandram drove back to Yeld in a dazed condition of mind. He was
tempted to telegraph to the Duke and the county generally; to set a body
of police to prevent any one entering the Maxfield gates; to shut the
two miscreants up in the coal-cellar; to run away, and not return till
next week.

But after an hysterical consultation with himself, he decided that it
was too late to do anything but cast in his lot with the other victims,
and go dressed in all his best to Miss Oliphant's "At Home," and do what
he could to steer her and her graceless brother out of their
predicament.

As the fateful hour approached, Tom began to be a little nervous. He
had not anticipated the vast number of small details demanding his
personal attention.

For instance, there was the cooking of the herrings. Jill had nobly
undertaken that task at the drawing-room fire, which was the most
capacious. But then, if they ran it too fine, the guests might arrive
while the fish were still fizzling on the tray. If, on the other hand,
they were cooked too soon, they would be lukewarm by the time the guests
came to sit down to them. Again, there were the starlights and Roman
candles to get into position outside, and arrangements had to be made
for their protection from the damp November mist. Then, too, the
faithless Grenadiers had not turned up, which necessitated Jill
deserting her herrings and privately practising the Goblin polka, in
view of possible emergencies. Further, the table had to be laid, and
every guest's "go" of buns, and cocoa-nut, and coffee-ice, doled out in
readiness. And at the last moment there arose a difficulty in raising
the requisite number of knives, f