ould have a punch," Rodney complained. The girls
laughed.

"Oh, Rod--Pa would explode!"

"Darn it," the boy mused, "I don't see WHY. He's not a teetotaler."
"Well, I know," Martie conceded. "But that's different, of course!
No--we can't have punch. I don't know how to make it, anyway--" She was
hardly following her own words. Under them lay the wonderful
consciousness that Rodney Parker was here at the house, sitting on the
porch steps on a warm November morning, as much at home as Leonard
himself. The sun was looking down into the dark garden, damp paths were
drying in sudden warmth after a rain.

In such an hour and such a mood, Martie felt absolutely confident that
the dance would be a great success. More; it seemed to her in the
heartening morning sunlight that it would be the first of many such
innocent festivities, and that before it was over--before it was over,
she and Rodney might have something wonderful to tell the girls and
boys of Monroe.

But in the long winter afternoons her confidence waned a little, and at
night, dreaming over her cards, she began to have serious misgivings.
Then the old house seemed cold and inhospitable and the burden of
carrying a social affair to success fell like a dreadful weight on the
girl's soul. Mama, Lydia, and Sally would cooperate to the best of
their power, of course; Pa and Len might be expected to make themselves
as annoying as possible.

Supper, decorations, even the question of gowns paled before the task
of making a list of guests. Sally and Martie early realized that they
must inevitably hurt the feelings and disappoint the trust of more than
one old friend. Mrs. Monroe and Lydia grew absolutely sick over the
necessity.

"Ma, this is just for the younger set," Martie argued. "And if people
like Miss Fanny and the Johnsons expect to come to it, why, it's
ridiculous, that's all!"

"I know, dear, but it's the first party we have given in YEARS" her
mother said plaintively, "and one hates to--"

"What I've DONE" said Martie in a worried tone, "is write down all the
POSSIBLE boys in Monroe, even counting Len and Billy Frost, and Rod,
and Alvah Brigham. Then I wrote down all the girls I'd like to ask if I
COULD, and there were about fourteen too many. So now I'm scratching
off all the girls I CAN--"

"I do think you ought to ask Grace Hawkes!" Lydia said firmly and
reproachfully.

"Well, I can't!" Martie answered quickly. "So it doesn't matter what
you think