ass. The refection was spread upon the rug as on a flowery table, and
all the lustres were lighted, filling the room with a festal glow. Prue
would have held up her hands in dismay, like the benighted piece of
excellence she was, but Mark would have enjoyed the picturesque group
and sketched a mate to the Golden Wedding. For Moor, armed with the
wooden fork, did the honors; Sylvia, leaning on her arm, dropped corn
after corn into a baby mouth that bird-like always gaped for more; and
Tilly lay luxuriously between them, warming her little feet as she ate
and babbled to the flames.

The clock was on the stroke of eight, the revel at its height, when the
door opened and a servant announced--

"Miss Dane and Mr. Warwick."

An impressive pause followed, broken by a crow from Tilly, who seized
this propitious moment to bury one hand in the nuts and with the other
capture the big red apple which had been denied her. The sound seemed to
dissipate the blank surprise that had fallen on all parties, and brought
both host and hostess to their feet, the former exclaiming, heartily--

"Welcome, friends, to a modern saturnalia and the bosom of the Happy
Family!"

"I fear you did not expect me so late," said Miss Dane. "I was detained
at the time fixed upon and gave it up, but Mr. Warwick came, and we set
off together. Pray don't disturb yourselves, but let us enjoy the game
with you."

"You and Adam are guests who never come too early or too late. We are
playing children to-night, so just put yourselves back a dozen years and
let us all be merry together. Sylvia, this our cousin, Faith here is
your new kinswoman. Please love one another as little people are
commanded to do."

A short stir ensued while hands were shaken, wraps put off, and some
degree of order restored to the room, then they all sat down and began
to talk. With well bred oblivion of the short gown and long braids of
her bashful-looking hostess, Miss Dane suggested and discussed various
subjects of mutual interest, while Sylvia tried to keep her eyes from
wandering to the mirror opposite, which reflected the figures of her
husband and his friend.

Warwick sat erect in the easy-chair, for he never lounged; and Moor,
still supporting his character, was perched upon the arm, talking with
boyish vivacity. Every sense being unwontedly alert, Sylvia found
herself listening to both guests at once, and bearing her own part in
one conversation so well that occasional l