can do in the way of hospitality. The same thing applies to the birthday
anniversaries, only in a higher degree. Not to celebrate one's birthday
can only be a sign of poverty, miserliness or misanthropy, and to
overlook the birthday anniversary of a close relative is to risk an
immediate breach of connections.

Nothing was more familiar to Keith than his mother's open worries about
money and his father's occasional stern reference to the need of saving.
To the boy those complaints and warnings meant merely that the parents
were in a depressed and unfaourable mood, tending to draw the usual
constraint a little tighter about him. He was intensely sensitive to
atmosphere, and too often that of his home had the same effect on his
young soul as the low-hanging, leaden skies of a Swedish December day
before the first snow has fallen. It made him long for sunlight, and the
parties brought it to some extent. Then care and caution were forgotten,
although his father might grumble before and after. Then the daily
routine was broken, and Granny became cynically but actively interested,
bent above all on seeing that "the house would not be shamed."

When the great day came, the home, always scrupulously neat, shone with
cleanliness. Every one worked up to the last minute. Cupboards and
pantries were full of unfamiliar and enticing supplies. The dining
table, opened to its utmost length, groaned under the burden of
innumerable cold dishes of tempting appearance, while from the kitchen
came the odours of more substantial courses still in the making. A one
end of Granny's bureau stood a battery of multicoloured bottles. The
other end was jammed with desserts and goodies meant to be served while
the guests were waiting for supper or during the card game that
generally followed it. Better than anything else, however, was the
father's loud laugh and eager talk, so rarely heard in the course of