anybody dance; and ice-cream and cake, with something like plaster all
over it, and oranges and grapes, and, oh, everything! Dick St. Claire
told me; he knows; his mother has had parties, and she's going to-night,
and her gown is crimson velvet, with black and white fur in it like our
cat, only they don't call it that; and--oh, I forgot--they have had a
telegraph, and I took it to Mrs. Tracy, who looked mad and almost cried
when she read it, Mr. Arthur Tracy is coming home to-night.'

Harold had talked so fast that his grandmother could hardly follow him,
but she understood what he said last, and started as if he had struck
her a blow.

'Arthur Tracy! Coming home to-night!' she exclaimed. 'Oh, I am so glad,
so glad.'

'But Mrs. Tracy did not seem to be, and I guess she wanted to stop the
party,' Harold said, repeating as nearly as he could what had passed
between him and the lady.

Harold was full of the party to which he believed he had been invited,
and when in the afternoon Dick St. Claire came to the cottage to play
with him, he felt a kind of patronizing pity for his friend who was not
to share his honor.

'Perhaps mother will let me come over and help you,' Dick said, 'I know
how they do it. You mustn't talk to the people as they come up the
stairs, nor even say good-evening, only;

'"Ladies will please walk this way, and gentlemen that!"