ad, approaching at the
going-for-the-doctor pace at which uncle Julius always drove.

Aunt Helen hustled me off to dress, but I was only half-rigged when they
arrived, and so was unable to go out and meet them. Uncle Julius inquired
for that youngster of Lucy's, and aunt Helen replied that she would be
forthcoming when they were dressed for dinner. The two gentlemen took a
nip, to put a little heart in them uncle Julius said, and auntie Helen
came to finish my toilet while they were making theirs.

"There now, you have nothing to complain of in the way of looks," she
remarked at the completion of the ceremony. "Come and have a good look at
yourself."

I was decked in my first evening dress, as it was a great occasion. It
was only on the rarest occasion that we donned full war-paint at
Caddagat. I think that evening dress is one of the prettiest and most
idiotic customs extant. What can be more foolish than to endanger one's
health by exposing at night the chest and arms--two of the most vital
spots of the body--which have been covered all day? On the other hand,
what can be more beautiful than a soft white bosom rising and falling
amid a dainty nest of silk and lace? Every woman looks more soft and
feminine in a _decollete_ gown. And is there any of the animal lines known
pleasanter to the eye than the contour of shapely arms? Some there are
who cry down evening dress as being immodest and indecent. These will be
found among those whose chest and arms will not admit of being displayed,
or among those who, not having been reared to the custom, dislike it with
many other things from want of use.

Aunt Helen took me into the wide old drawing-room, now brilliantly
lighted. A heavy lamp was on each of the four brackets in the corners,
and another swung from the centre of the ceiling, and candelabra threw
many lights from the piano. Never before had I seen this room in such a
blaze of light. During the last week or two aunt Helen and I had occupied
it every night, but we never lighted more than a single candle on the
piano. This had been ample light for our purpose. Aunt Helen would sing
in her sweet sad voice all the beautiful old songs I loved, while I
curled myself on a mat at her side and read books--the music often
compelling me to forget the reading, and the reading occasionally
rendering me deaf to the music; but through both ever came the solemn
rush of the stream outside in its weird melancholy, like a wind
cease