and plain, was filling silver bonbon-dishes with salted nuts.

"How is everything going, Celia?" said Mrs. Carew, sampling a nut.

"Fine," said Celia placidly. "He didn't bring but two bunches of
sullery, so I don't know will I have enough for the salad. They sent
the cherries. And Mrs. Binney wants you should taste the punch."

"It's sweet now," said Mrs. Binney, as Mrs. Carew picked up the big
mixing-spoon, "but there's the ice to go in."

"Delicious! not one bit too sweet," Mrs. Carew pronounced. "You know
that's to be passed around in the little glasses, Lizzie, while we're
playing; and a cherry and a piece of pineapple in every glass. Did
Annie find the doilies for the big trays? Yes. I got the bowl down;
Annie's going to wash it. Oh, the cakes came, didn't they? That's good.
And the cream for coffee; that ought to go right on ice. I'll telephone
for more celery."

"There's some of these napkins so mussed, laying in the drawer," said
Lizzie, "I thought I'd put a couple of irons on and press them out."

"If you have time, I wish you would," Mrs. Carew said, touching the
frosted top of an angel-cake with a tentative finger. "I may have to
play to-night, Celia," she went on, to her own cook, "but you girls can
manage everything, can't you? Dinner really doesn't matter--scrambled
eggs and baked potatoes, something like that, and you'll have to serve
it on the side porch."

"Oh, yes'm, we'll manage!" Celia assured her confidently. "We'll clear
up here pretty soon, and then there's nothing but the sandwiches to do."

Mrs. Carew went on her way comforted. Celia was not a fancy cook, she
reflected, passing through the darkened dining-room, where the long
table had been already set with a shining cloth, and where silver and
glass gleamed in the darkness, but Celia was reliable. And for a woman
with three children, a large house, and but one other maid, Celia was a
treasure.

She telephoned the grocer, her eyes roving critically over the hall as
she did so. The buttercups, in a great bowl on the table, were already
dropping their varnished yellow leaves; Annie must brush those up the
very last thing.

"So far, so good!" said Mrs. Carew, straightening the rug at the door
with a small heel and dropping wearily into a porch rocker. "There must
be one thousand things I ought to be doing," she said, resting her head
and shutting her eyes.

It was a warm, delicious afternoon. The little California town lay
asleep und