violin; and his whole wiry self seemed to quiver with joy to the tune of
his merry "Money Musk." In the center of the room two gray-haired men
were dancing an old-time jig, bobbing, bowing, and twisting about in a
gleeful attempt to outdo each other. Watching them were three old women
and another old man, eating ice cream and contentedly munching
peppermints. And here, there, and everywhere was the mistress of the
house, Lydia Ann herself, cheeks flushed and cap-strings flying, but
plainly in her element and joyously content.

For a time the man by the hall door watched in silent amazement; then
with a low ejaculation he softly let himself out of the house, and
hurried back to the hotel.

"Well?" greeted half a dozen voices; and one added: "What did they say?"

Frank shook his head and dropped into the nearest chair. "I--I didn't
tell them," he stammered faintly.

"Didn't tell them!" exclaimed Ella. "Why, Frank, what was the trouble?
Were they sick? Surely, they were not upset by just seeing you!"
Frank's eyes twinkled "Well, hardly!" he retorted. "They--they're having
a party."

"A party!" shrieked half a dozen voices.

"Yes; and a tree, and a dance, and ice cream, and pink peppermints,"
Frank enumerated in one breath.

There was a chorus of expostulation; then Ella's voice rose dominant.
"Frank Bertram, what on earth do you mean?" she demanded. "Who is having