Oh, Goat, how funny you are!" giggled the girls.

"Not at all, I assure you," said Grace, unmoved. "But I pray you fall
to! Have some salad, Vanity? yes, I'll take a wing, thank you."

"Isn't this perf'ly fine?" cried Viola Vincent. They were all seated by
this time, some on the floor, others wherever they could find a few
inches of spare room, and were dispensing the viands with reckless
liberality. "I say! I wish we had these every week, instead of only once
a year. Why, it's just as easy! Oh, what an elegant cream pie! Give me
some!"

"No!" said Grace Wolfe, with emphasis.

"Why not? What's the matter, Goat?"

"I will _not_ have pies called elegant while I am leader of this Gang,"
said Grace. "Take my life, if you will, but spare my feelings!"

"All right," said Viola, cheerily. "Your own way, Goat. I'd just as lief
call it dandy, and it _is_ dandy, you can't deny that."

"Perhaps the Goat is thinking of succeeding her Puggy in the rhetoric
chair!" said Blanche Haight, with a sneer.

"Perhaps I am thinking of stopping your--" began Grace; but she checked
herself, and turned away abruptly.

"Look at Colney!" said Vivia Varnham. "Isn't she too perfectly killing?
She doesn't know we are here, I believe. Look at her hair, girls! It
gets more ratty, not to say woozzy, every day. I wonder when she brushed
it last."

"Possibly when you brushed your manners," said the Scapegoat. "Colney is
our hostess, I beg to remind you. And nobody giving her a bite of
supper!"

She rose from the floor, piled a plate with good things, and went over
to the corner where Colney Hatch was bending over her mouse, conscious
of nothing else.

"Here, Colney; here's your supper."

"Oh, thank you, Grace," said Colney, looking up for a moment. "But I
can't, you know. Both my hands are full, you see."

"Then open your mouth," commanded the Scapegoat, in tones of authority.

Colney obeyed meekly, and Grace stood over her, feeding her like a baby
with the choicest morsels, and now and then casting a glance over her
shoulder at the others. Grace's gaiety was fitful to-night, certainly.
When she first came in she had been the life of the party; now, as she
stood there in the corner, her brow was overcast, her eyes gloomy. What
ailed the Lone Wolf?

What were they saying over there? They, at least, were at the very
height of glee, breaking into gusts of giggling, into whisperings ending
in squeaks and smothered screams.

"To-morrow ni