the village inn? Of all the nerve!--and you don't know any of them
intimately, do you?"

I shook my head. "One of them was my dearest enemy in school-days," I
admitted, "and I never saw but one of the others. Never mind. Do you
suppose you could saddle Skylark and post over to town for some
beefsteak? I've sent Lad to the neighbours for other things. Beefsteak
is what they must have--porterhouse--since I've not enough broilers in
the ice-box to go around that hungry company."

"Sure thing," and the Skeptic was off. But he came back to say in my
ear: "See here, why doesn't Miss Azalea come out and help? She's just
sitting on the porch, looking pretty."

"Somebody ought to play hostess, since I must be here," I responded,
without meeting his inquiring eye. I did urgently need some one to beat
the oil into the salad dressing I was making, for there were other
things I must do. The Gay Lady was already accomplishing separate things
with each hand, and directing Lad at the same time. The Skeptic looked
at her appreciatively.

"She mourns because she can't sing!" said he, and laughed quietly to
himself as he swung away. Yet he had seemed much impressed with
Azalea's singing all the week, and had turned her music for her
devotedly.

We got through it somehow. "I thought they'd eat their heads off,"
commented the Philosopher, who had carved the beefsteak and the
broilers, and had tried to give everybody the tenderloin and the white
breast meat, and had eaten drumsticks and end pieces himself, after the