Merryweathers were invited, all except the two youngest, Will and
Kitty. Mrs. Grahame was already there, having gone over early, at
the Colonel's request, to help in arranging certain little matters
which he considered beyond the province of his good housekeeper;
and now it was time for the "beneficiary," as Gerald Merryweather
called her, to follow.

Hildegarde was dressed in white, of course; she always wore white
in the evening. Miss Loftus, her neighbour in the new stone house,
sometimes expressed wonder at that Grahame girl's wearing white so
much, when they hadn't means to keep so much as a pony to carry
their mail; her wonder might have been set at rest if she could
have peeped into the airy kitchen at Braeside, and seen Hildegarde
singing at her ironing-table in the early morning, before the sun
was hot. Auntie, the good black cook, washed the dresses
generally, though Hildegarde could do that, too, if she was "put
to it;" but Hildegarde liked the ironing, and took as much pride--
or nearly as much--in her own hems and ruffles as she did in the
delicate laces which she "did up" for her mother. Her dress this
evening was sheer white lawn, and she had a white rose in her
hair, and another in her belt, and, altogether, she was pleasant
to look upon. Gerald Merryweather, who with his brother was making
his way along another path in the same direction, saw the girl,
and straightway glowed with all the ardour of seventeen.

"I say!" he exclaimed, under his breath, "isn't she stunning?
Look, Ferg, you old ape! Ever see anything like that?"

Ferguson, who was of a cooler temperament, replied without
enthusiasm, maintaining that there had been, in the history of