r!"

Instead of which she was her gayest self, and accepted endless
congratulations with joyous composure, as the audience streamed out
into the reviving festivity of Main Street. The tide was turning in one
direction now, for there were to be "fireworks and a stupendous band
concert" immediately following the concert, in a vacant lot not far
away.

And presently they all found themselves seated on the fragrant grass,
under the stars. George Carew, at Sidney's feet, solemnly wrapped
sections of molasses popcorn in oiled paper, and passed them to the
ladies. Barry's coat made a comfortable seat for Mrs. Burgoyne and
little Mrs. Brown; Barry himself was just behind, and Mrs. Carew and
her big son beside them. All about, in the darkness, were other groups:
mothers and fathers and alert, chattering children. Alice Carter, the
big mill-girl, radiant now, and with a hoarse, inarticulate, adoring
young plumber in tow, went by them, and stooped to whisper something to
Mrs. Burgoyne. "I wish you WOULD come, Alice!" the lady answered
eagerly, as they went on.

Then the rockets began to hiss up toward the stars, each falling shower
of light greeted with a long rapturous "Ah-h-h!" Catherine-wheels
sputtered nearer the ground; red lights made eerie great spots of
illumination here and there, against which dark little figures moved.

"I don't know that I ever had a happier day in my life!" said Sidney
Burgoyne.

CHAPTER XIV

More happy days followed; for Santa Paloma, after the Fourth of July,
felt only friendliness for the new owner of the Hall, and Mrs.
Burgoyne's informal teas on the river bank began to prove a powerful
attraction, even rivaling the club in feminine favor. Sometimes the
hostess enlisted all their sympathies for a newly arrived Old Paloma
baby, and they tore lengths of flannel, and busily stitched at tiny
garments, under the shade of the willow and pepper trees. Sometimes she
had in her care one or more older babies whose busy mother was taking a
day's rest, or whose father was perhaps ill, needing all the wife's
care. Always there was something to read and discuss; an editorial in
some eastern magazine that made them all indignant or enthusiastic, or
a short story worth reading aloud. And almost always the children were
within call, digging great holes in the pebbly shallows of the river,
only to fill them up again, toiling over bridges and dams, climbing out
to the perilous length of the branches th