stopped short in his tracks.

Beasley's front door was thrown open, and there stood Beasley himself in
evening dress, bowing and smiling, but not at us, for he did not see us.
The bright hall behind him was beautiful with evergreen streamers and
wreaths, and great flowering plants in jars. A strain of dance-music
wandered out to us as the door opened, but there was nobody except David
Beasley in sight, which certainly seemed peculiar--for a ball!

"Rest of 'em inside, dancin'," explained Mr. Peck, crouching behind the
picket-fence. "I'll bet the house is more'n half full o' low-necked
wimmin!"

"Sh!" said Grist. "Listen."

Beasley had begun to speak, and his voice, loud and clear, sounded over
the wind. "Come right in, Colonel!" he said. "I'd have sent a carriage
for you if you hadn't telephoned me this afternoon that your rheumatism
was so bad you didn't expect to be able to come. I'm glad you're well
again. Yes, they're all here, and the ladies are getting up a quadrille
in the sitting-room."

(It was at this moment that I received upon the calf of the right leg a
kick, the ecstatic violence of which led me to attribute it to Mr.
Dowden.)

"Gentlemen's dressing-room up-stairs to the right, Colonel," called
Beasley, as he closed the door.

There was a pause of awed silence among us.