d up
properly. I thank you so much for your permission; and, Gail, though we
must hurry away this morning, the next time I come out here for a visit,
I shall run in to see you for a nice long chat. May I?"

"Oh, if you just would!" cried gentle Gail impulsively, longing to take
the bright face between her hands and kiss it. "We are too busy here to
get out very much ourselves, but we do like company 'awfully bad,' as
Peace used to say. I hope you come soon. The children will be ready for
Cecile Saturday when she gets here. Good-bye, I am sorry you must go so
soon. Come again, Cecile." The girls were gone, and Gail went back to
her wash-tubs in a daze.

Needless to say, the little girls were wild with excitement when told of
the coming gala day, and Cherry was green-eyed with envy, though, like
the well-behaved child she was, she never said a word to mar the
beautiful time in store for the two more fortunate sisters. Long before
Cecile arrived Saturday morning, the stiffly-starched duet stood on the
steps, waiting in a fever of impatience; and by the time the Sherrar
house in the great city was reached, both little girls were almost
transported with joy. They nearly talked Cecile's head off, so eager
were they to find out all about the grand party, and everything else of
interest they could think of; so she was more than relieved to turn her
lively charges over to Frances the minute that young lady put in
appearance.

"You little darlings!" the hostess exclaimed at sight of them. "Take
them right upstairs, Sophy; mamma wants them at once. Cecile, you look
tired out. Oh, yes, I can understand just how you feel for Sara and
Marion were here all day yesterday, and what do you think? They haven't
a thing suitable for us to borrow. Mamma says we'll have to go downtown
and buy something ready-made for Peace and Allee. She is dressing now,
and if you aren't too tired, I'm going to drag you along."

"Oh, I'm never too tired for gadding," replied Cecile with animation.
"But I can't answer half the questions those chatterboxes ask, and this
morning Allee was as bad as Peace. She wants to know if a chandelier
crows and is just an ordinary rooster. Peace thinks those green-houses
we pass on the car ought to be called 'white-houses,' because they are
painted white. Just before we got off at our avenue she suddenly
demanded to know for whom 'Vandrevort Street' was named. I couldn't
think for the life of me what she meant until I r