en.

Even so early, Catherine's inspiration had shown itself a true one.

CHAPTER SEVEN

A PARTY AT POLLY'S

"Where you goin', Algy?"

Algernon, half-way down the walk, turned at these words, high and clear,
floating down from upper regions.

In the balcony on the second floor Elsmere, clad airily in white
night-drawers, leaned pensively over the railing.

"To the party, you know. Go back to bed, Sonny."

"But the party is to Peter and Perdita's, over there,--" with a gesture
across the street. "Why do you be goin' that way?" The fat little arm
waved in an opposite direction.

"I'm going to get Catherine. Do go in, now, Elsmere. I'll tell you all
about the party in the morning," and Algernon hastened down the street,
bouncing more than usual in his effort to get out of reach of that
penetrating little voice.

"Why," it called after him, "why? Doesn't Caffrine know the way to Peter
and Perdita's house? What you goin' to get her _for_?"

The neighbors on their porches smiled, and Algernon reddened as he
rushed along.

Elsmere, abandoned, still draped himself over the railing and watched
his brother's rapid walk.

"Springs!" he murmured at last, as though he had solved a knotty
problem. "Algy walks like a spring seat!"

Then with a lighted candle Elsmere proceeded to make some preparations
for an evening of festivity. The party at the Osgoods' was so near that
Peter had assured him the music for the porch dancing would reach him
even more clearly in his balcony chamber than if he were a really
invited guest and on the spot. Peter had further coached him in the
method of preparing porches for dancing, and Elsmere had secreted a
candle and matches early in the evening, waiting only till Algernon was
safely away to apply them. His floor nicely waxed, he curled down in a
corner of the balcony to watch the arriving guests, and unexpectedly
fell asleep.

"Walk on your heels, why don't you?"

Algernon, escorting Catherine, made this suggestion as she picked her
way across a narrow muddy crossing, her white party skirts gathered in
one hand. Catherine, poising with difficulty on the toe of one foot,
turned and looked at him.

"It just muddies my heels, and then my heels muddy my skirts. Of course,
you boys with trousers--" then, toppling, she righted herself and leaped
across the last puddle.

"Trousers," said Algernon, getting to her side again, "were worn in
Abyssinia as early as--"

Catherine