"The Party has begun and I'm to it, I'm in it!"

"So am I, so am I! Though I did have to invite myself!" returned Mr.
Winters. "Strange that this little girl of mine should have left me
out, that morning when she was inviting everybody, wholesale."

For to remind her that he "hadn't been invited" was the "trouble"
which he had stooped to whisper in Dorothy's ear, as she left him at
the smithy door. So she had run home and with the aid of her friends
already there had concocted a big-worded document, in which they
begged his presence at Deerhurst for "A Week of Days," as they named
the coming festivities; and also that he would be "Entertainer in
Chief."

"You see," confided Dolly, "now that the thing is settled and I've
asked so many I begin to get a little scared. I've never been hostess
before--not this way;--and sixteen people--I'm afraid I don't know
enough to keep sixteen girls and boys real happy for a whole week. But
dear Mr. Winters knows. Why, I believe that darling man could keep a
world full happy, if he'd a mind."

"Are you sorry you started the affair, Dolly Doodles? 'Cause if you
are, you might write notes all round and have it given up. You'd
better do that than be unhappy. Society folks would, I reckon," said
Molly, in an effort to comfort her friend's anxiety. "I'm as bad as
you are. It begins to seem as if we'd get dreadful tired before the
week is out."

"I'd be ashamed of myself if I did that, Molly, I'll go through with
it even if none of you will help; though I must say I think it's--it's
sort of mean for you boys, Jim and Monty, to beg off being
'committees.'"

"The trouble with me, Dolly, is that my ideas have entirely given
out. If you hadn't lost that hundred dollars I could get up a lot of
jolly things. But without a cent in either of our pockets--Hmm,"
answered Monty, shrugging his shoulders.

Jim said nothing. He was still a shy lad and while he meant to forget
his awkwardness and help all he could he shrank from taking a
prominent part in the coming affair.

Alfaretta was the only one who wasn't dismayed, and her fear that the
glorious event might be abandoned was ludicrous.

"Pooh, Dorothy Calvert! I wouldn't be a 'fraid-cat, I wouldn't! Not if
I was a rich girl like you've got to be and had this big house to do
it in and folks to do the cookin' and sweepin', and--and rooms to
sleep 'em in and everything!" she argued, breathlessly.

"You funny, dear Alfaretta! It's not to be g