ose
puzzled lips have for the first time tasted blood. Every fibre in her
being cried for Joe, his bashful words were her wisdom, his nearness
her very breath and being.

She clung to him now, in the dark kitchen porch, in a fever of pure
desire. Their hearts beat together. Sally's arms were bent against the
boy's big chest, as his embrace crushed her; they breathed like runners
as they kissed each other.

A moment later they went back into the kitchen to scoop the hard-packed
ice cream into variegated saucers and enjoy unashamedly such odd bits
of it as clung to fingers or spoon. The cakes had all been cut now,
enormous wedges of every separate variety were arranged on the plates
that were scattered up and down the long stretch of the table in the
dining room. The dancers and all the other guests filed out to enjoy
the supper, the room rang with laughter and screamed witticisms. A
popular feature of the entertainment was the mottoes, flat scalloped
candies of pink and white sugar, whose printed messages caused endless
merriment among these uncritical young persons. "Do You Love Me?"; "I
Am A Flirt"; "Don't Kiss Me"; "Oh, You Smarty," said the mottoes
insinuatingly, and the revellers read them aloud, exchanged them,
secreted them, and even devoured them, in their excessive delight.

Presently they all toasted Grandma Kelly in lemonade. The old lady,
with Lydia and some of the older women, was enjoying her cake and cream
in the parlour, but tears of pride and joy came to her eyes when the
young voices all rose with lingering enjoyment on "Silver Threads Among
the Gold," and there was a general wiping of eyes at "She's a Jolly
Good Fellow" which followed it. Then some of the girls rushed in to
kiss her once more, and, as it was now nearly twelve o'clock, Lydia
called her sisters, and they said their good-nights.

Walking home under a jaded moon, yawning and cold in the revulsion from
hours of excitement and the change from the heated rooms to the cold
night air, Lydia was complacently superior; they were certainly
warm-hearted, hospitable people, the Hawkeses, and she was glad that
they, the Monroes, had paid Grandma the compliment of going. Sally,
hanging on Lydia's arm, was silent. Martie, on her other arm, was
smilingly reminiscent. "That Al Lunt was a caution," she observed.
"Wasn't Laura Carter's dance music good? Wasn't that maple walnut cake
delicious?" She had eaten goodness knows how much ice cream, because