rrounding country and the village. For this event, which Stuart
naively called a "party," Jeannette a "lawn fete," and the guests
themselves, for the most part, a "picnic," porches, lawn and trees had
been hung with gay lanterns, bonfires had been built, the small village
band engaged, a light but delectable supper provided, and as much
jollity planned as could be crowded into the hours between five o'clock
and eleven.

From the standpoint of those entertaining, at least, the affair had been
a success, for Stuart, long accustomed to the ways of his fellow
countrymen, considered himself fully able to tell from their manner, if
not from their expressions of pleasure, whether they had really found
enjoyment in the efforts of their hosts.

"They had a mighty good time, no doubt about it!" he declared, when the
last reluctant guest had departed in the last small car which had waited
at the edge of the roadway. (Not the least of young Chester Crofton's
enjoyment had been occasioned by the sight of the long row of vehicles,
from two-seated wagons to smart and even expensive motors, which had
lined the road for many rods.) "And a lot of them are well worth
knowing," Stuart added.

His eye chanced to fall on his father-in-law, Mr. Thomas Crofton, as he
made this assertion. The party were sitting in a group upon the
lantern-lighted porch and its steps, and the senior Crofton's face was
plainly visible.

That gentleman nodded. "You're quite right, Jim," he said. "I don't know
when I've had a more interesting conversation with any man than I did
with one of your neighbours, nor found a more intelligent set of
opinions on every subject we touched on. He wasn't the only one, either.
As a rule I found the people who came here to-night possessed of rather
more than the average amount of brains. I should like to try living
among them--for a change, at least."

"I struck a tongue-tied dolt or two," remarked his son Chester, "but
dolts aren't uncommon anywhere, even when not tongue-tied. And I did run
up against some chaps I liked jolly well. One of them invited me up for
a week-end; I nearly fell over when he did it. I didn't know country
people ever talked about week-ends. I thought they called it 'staying
over Sunday.'"

"You mean Wells Lawson," Stuart informed him. "If you could see the list
of newspapers and magazines, not to mention books, that the Lawsons
take, you'd open your eyes. He and his family have traveled a lot more