r mind," said Mrs. Gilton, quickly; "the other one came later, the
first one, you know--so--so the Biltons didn't get it this time."

"They got the second one, though," said Reuben, hanging up his hat.

"Oh, dear, did they!" said Mrs. Gilton. Then she went on, "Well, I don't
care if they did, so there! I guess they need it for their Christmas
dinner."

"No, they don't," said Reuben, turning around and facing her, "because
they are going to eat part of ours. They are coming in to-morrow to have
dinner with us,--every one of them!" he asserted more loudly, on account
of the expression on his wife's face. "Bilton, and his wife, and all the
five children, down to Cora Cordelia! So we'll have to have something
for them to eat."

If Mr. Gilton will never forget the cup and ball, Mrs. Gilton will never
forget that moment. She went all over it in her mind whether she could
manage him herself to-night, or whether to send Bridget right away then
for the doctor, and if she hadn't better say a policeman too, and
whether he could be kept for the future in a private house, or would
have to be confined in an asylum. She was inclining towards the asylum
when he, who was going into the sitting-room before her, turned round
and laughed an odd little laugh. She began to think then that a private
house would do.

The next day they all dined together, which proved that it was not all a
Christmas Eve illusion. There is a report in the neighborhood that the
fence between the houses is to be taken down to make room for a tennis
court for the Bilton children, but of course this may not be true. It
would have to be done in the summer, and if the effect of Christmas
could be depended upon to last into the summer this would be a very
different sort of world.

After--the Deluge

THE sombre tints of Grayhead were slightly suffused by a pink light
sifting from the west through the clear air. The yachts in the harbor
lay idly beneath the mellow influences of the passing of the summer
day,--idly as only sailboats can lie, a bit of loose sail or cordage now
and then flapping inconsistently in a breath of wind, which seemed to
come out of the west for no other purpose, and to retire into the east
afterward, its whole duty done. On board, men were moving about, hanging
lanterns, making taut here, setting free there, all with an air of utter
peace and repose such as is found only on placid waterways beneath a
setting sun. Occasionally an oa