ebrated Sir Thomas
Wyatt.--I am, dear Sir, yours faithfully,

'EDWARD K. TURNBULL (Hon. Sec.).'

'Just so,' said Albert's uncle; 'well, shall we permit the eye of the
Maidstone Antiquities to profane these sacred solitudes, and the foot of
the Field Club to kick up a dust on our gravel?'

'Our gravel is all grass,' H. O. said.

And the girls said, 'Oh, do let them come!' It was Alice who said--

'Why not ask them to tea? They'll be very tired coming all the way from
Maidstone.'

'Would you really like it?' Albert's uncle asked. 'I'm afraid they'll
be but dull dogs, the Antiquities, stuffy old gentlemen with amphorae
in their buttonholes instead of orchids, and pedigrees poking out of all
their pockets.'

We laughed--because we knew what an amphorae is. If you don't you might
look it up in the dicker. It's not a flower, though it sounds like one
out of the gardening book, the kind you never hear of anyone growing.

Dora said she thought it would be splendid.

'And we could have out the best china,' she said, 'and decorate the
table with flowers. We could have tea in the garden. We've never had a
party since we've been here.'

'I warn you that your guests may be boresome; however, have it your own
way,' Albert's uncle said; and he went off to write the invitation to
tea to the Maidstone Antiquities. I know that is the wrong word but
somehow we all used it whenever we spoke of them, which was often.

In a day or two Albert's uncle came in to tea with a lightly-clouded
brow.

'You've let me in for a nice thing,' he said. 'I asked the Antiquities
to tea, and I asked casually how many we might expect. I thought
we might need at least the full dozen of the best teacups. Now the
secretary writes accepting my kind invitation--'

'Oh, good!' we cried. 'And how many are coming?' 'Oh, only about
sixty,' was the groaning rejoinder. 'Perhaps more, should the weather be
exceptionally favourable.'

Though stunned at first, we presently decided that we were pleased.

We had never, never given such a big party.

The girls were allowed to help in the kitchen, where Mrs Pettigrew made
cakes all day long without stopping. They did not let us boys be there,
though I cannot see any harm in putting your finger in a cake before
it is baked, and then licking your finger, if you are careful to put
a different finger in the cake next time. Cake before it is baked is
delicious--like a sort of cream.

Albert's uncle said he