n his hurry to get the little
party settled before some one spoiled it all.

He wanted to handle Connie's chair for her, he knew just how it was
done. But suppose he pushed her clear under the table, or jerked it
entirely from under her, or did something worse than either? A girl
like Connie ought to have those things done for her. Well, he would
let it go this time. So he looked after Julia, and settled her so
comfortably, and was so assiduously attentive to her that he quite won
her heart, and before the meal was over she said he might come and live
with them and be her grandpa, if he wanted.

"Grandpa," he said facetiously. "Do I look as old as that? Can't I be
something better than a grandpa?"

"Well, only one papa's the style," said Julia doubtfully. "And you are
too big to be a baby, and--"

"Can't I be your uncle?" Then, glancing at Connie with a sudden
realization of the only possible way the uncle-ship could be
accomplished, he blushed.

"Yes, an uncle is better," said Connie imperturbably. "You must
remember, Julia dear, that men are very, very sensitive about their
ages, and you must always give them credit for youth."

"I see," said Julia. And Prince wondered how old Connie thought he
was, his hair was a little thin, not from age--always had been that
way--and he was as brown as a Zulu, but it was only sunburn. He'd
figure out a way of letting her know he was only thirty-two before the
evening was over.

"Are you going over to the street to-night?" he asked of David, but not
caring half a cent what David did.

"I am afraid I can't. I am not very good on my feet any more. I am
sorry, the girls would enjoy it."

"Carol and I might go alone," suggested Connie bravely. "Every one
does out here. We wouldn't mind it."

"I will not go to a street carnival and leave David," protested Carol.

"It would be rather interesting." Connie looked tentatively from the
window.

Prince swallowed in anguish. She ought to go, he told them; she really
needs to go. The evenings are so much fuller of literary material than
day-times. And the dancing--

"I do not dance," said Connie. "My father is a minister."

"You do not dance! Why, that's funny. I don't either. That is, not
exactly,-- Oh, once in a while just to fill in." Then the latter part
of her remark reached his inner consciousness. "A minister. By
George!"

"My husband is one, too," said Carol.

Prince looked helplessly abou