e to list as eligible--the new
young doctor from the Rogers building, little Billy Frost, the
Patterson boys, home from college for Thanksgiving, Reddy Johnson, and
Carl Polhemus--answered not at all, as is the custom with young men.
Sally and Martie did not like the Patterson boys; George was fat and
stupid; Arthur at eighteen sophisticated and blase, with dissipated
eyes; both were supercilious, and the girls did not really believe that
they would come. Still, there was not much to lose in asking them.

There had been a debate over Reddy Johnson's name; but Reddy was a
wonderful dancer. So he was asked, and Martie went so far as to say
that had Joe Hawkes possessed an evening suit, he and Grace might have
been asked, too. As it was, Sally and Martie hoped they would not meet
Grace until the affair was over.

They fumed and fussed over the list until they knew it by heart. They
wondered who would come first, how soon they should begin dancing, how
soon serve supper. Mrs. Monroe thought supper should be served at
half-past ten. Martie groaned. Oh, they couldn't serve supper until
almost midnight, she protested.

Dinner was at noon on Thanksgiving Day, and the Monroes, sated and
overwarm, were sitting about the fire when Rodney Parker and his
friend, Alvah Brigham, came to take Martie and Sally walking. The girls
were sewing at the endless roses; but they jumped up in a flutter, and
ran for hats and sweaters. They did not exchange a word, nor lose a
second, while they were upstairs, running down again immediately to end
the uncomfortable silence that held the group about the fire.

It was a cold, bleak day, and the pure air was delicious to Martie's
hot cheeks after the close house. She had immediately taken possession
of Alvah; Sally and Rodney followed. They took the old bridge road,
which the girls loved for the memory of bygone days, when they had
played at dolls' housekeeping along the banks of the little Sonora,
climbed the low oaks, and waded in the bright shallow water. Even
through to-day's excitement Martie had time for a memory of those
long-ago summer afternoons, and she said to herself with a vague touch
of pain that it would of course be impossible to have with any man the
serene communion of those days with Sally.

Mr. Brigham was a pale, rather fat young man with hair already
thinning. He did not have much to say, but he was always ready to
laugh, and Martie saw that he had cause for laughter. She ra