Were not her nine "childern" invited to a dinner-party at the
great house, and weren't they going to sit down free and equal
with the mightiest in the land? She had been preparing for this
grand occasion ever since the receipt of the invitation, which,
by the way, had been speedily enshrined in an old photograph
frame and hung under the looking-glass in the most prominent
place in the kitchen, where it stared the occasional visitor
directly in the eye, and made him pale with envy:

"BIRDS' NEST, Dec. 17th, 188-.

DEAR MRS. RUGGLES,--
I am going to have a dinner-party on Christmas day, and would
like to have all your children come. I want them every one,
please, from Sarah Maud to Baby Larry. Mama says dinner will be
at half-past five, and the Christmas tree at seven; so you
may expect them home at nine o'clock. Wishing you a Merry
Christmas and a Happy New Year, I am, yours truly,
CAROL BIRD."


Breakfast was on the table promptly at seven o'clock, and there
was very little of it, too; for it was an excellent day for short
rations, though Mrs. Ruggles heaved a sigh as she reflected that
even the boys, with their India-rubber stomachs, would be just as
hungry the day after the dinner-party as if they had never had
any at all.

As soon as the scanty meal was over, she announced the plan of
the campaign: "Now Susan, you an' Kitty wash up the dishes; an'