Giving a tea-party at Rose Cottage was a serious business. Miss Linn, Miss Celia, Margery and even John were as busy as ants all the morning. There were snow puddings, ices, cakes and custards to be made, and nobody knows what these old-time housewives and fosterers of dyspepsia did not deem necessary for Gay's spread.

It was great fun at first to watch the work going on; to have "tastes" of this or that offered for one's verdict, and to eat all the little cakes that refused to turn out of their tins as well-regulated little cakes should. But even this position of taster-in-ordinary grew monotonous, and the incessant noise of the egg-beaters working in merry unison seemed to whisk the thoughts out of Gay's head, and he was glad to retire at an early hour from the kitchen to the welcome quiet of his own room. It cannot be said that his absence was regretted by the cooks; in trying "to help" he had upset a freshly-iced cake; dropped a glass dish of custard; spilled a pitcher of milk; broken six eggs; and scalded his hand in lifting an open vessel of water off the stove; not to mention his being a good deal in the way.

Gay had a reason for seeking his chamber; he wished to look through poor May's depleted wardrobe and see if there was a whole dress to wear to the party. There were two; one a dainty white muslin, the other a plain white lawn, both to be worn, much to his disgust, with a sash. He instantly rejected the dainty frock, which would have been the real May's choice, because of bows of blue ribbon on the shoulders and sleeves.

"None of that in mine!" he said, disdainfully, rolling his sister's best frock in a wad and thrusting it back into the trunk.

To wear with the plainer lawn dress he selected a black sash, since he must wear one, as being more quiet and gentleman-like. In honor of the occasion he took some pains with his hands, but forgot to take off his tennis shoes until Margery reminded him of it.

"You must put on better shoes, Miss May," Margery said, who had been invited up-stairs to tie the black sash. "And why don't you put on one of those pretty bright sashes?"

"It isn't the thing to dress better than one's guests," said sly Gay, with a wise air. "You wouldn't want me to knock spots out of the girls, would you?"

"Mercy, no; you mustn't knock spots out o' them girls. They are the nicest in town, Miss May. No fighting with them, I beg of you. It was well enough, perhaps, to take hold of them boys, for they have tormented us to pieces all summer, but you mustn't think of knocking spots out of them fine young ladies."

"Oh, Margery, to knock spots out of anybody doesn't mean to fight them!"

"Doesn't it? Well, I'm glad of it," said Margery, with a sigh of relief.

When Gay was left alone he planned his campaign; he meant to distinguish himself and make his aunts proud of him, and to do this without thought was beyond his ability. "I'll say something to each one. That's the way mother does. I'll act just like Alice! That's a bang-up idea! And I mustn't forget that I'm a girl," thought he.

Having planned his line of conduct Gay went down into the drawing-room, where Miss Linn and Miss Celia sat in state, with a smiling decorum that would have reflected credit upon the sweetest little girl that ever lived—upon May, for example.

Very soon the guests, pretty, quiet little girls, with correct and agreeable manners, as became the descendants of Hazelnook's best families, began to arrive. Gay met them with the best imitation of Alice's manner that could be assumed at short notice; greeting them cordially and with such easy grace that anxious Miss Linn was delighted.

"I must begin to say something to each one," thought Gay. "It looks easy when mother does it, but I can't seem to get it in before they get out of the way!"

"May, this is Ethel Payne," said Miss Celia, who presented the girls to Gay.

"How do you do, Ethel?" Gay said, shaking Ethel's hand warmly. "Do—ah—do—you play ball?"

"No," answered astonished Ethel. "But my brother Ned does."

"Does he? When is he coming?" asked Gay, eagerly.

"He is not coming to-day; only girls are invited, you know."

"Only girls! phew!" exclaimed Gay. Then realizing that this was scarcely courteous, he added, "How beautiful!"

"Yes, you seem to think so," laughed Ethel, as she moved away.

"This is Mabel Bryant."

"I'm glad to see you, Mabel," said Gay. "What shall I say to her?" he thought. "Have you"—he jerked out,—"have you been in swimming much this summer?"

Mabel stared. "No," she said, rather primly.

"And here is Sadie Carver, May."

Gay turned delightedly to the new-comer. "I'm awfully glad you came," he cried, seizing Sadie's hand. "Is Lyman coming? You've a brother named Lyman, haven't you?"

"I have no brothers," said Sadie, looking very much affronted, though Gay couldn't imagine why.

"That's a pity. Lyman is such a rattling good fellow. He's captain of the Blue Stockings, and his father who drives the stage is more fun than—a tied goat."

Sadie's face grew very red. "Those Carvers are no relation to us; they are a very common family," said she.

"I thought they were quite un-common, but I may be mistaken," replied Gay, thinking that he shouldn't like Sadie at all.

"May, this is Julia Paige, the doctor's daughter."

"I'm glad to see you," said Gay.

"Thank you," Julia replied.

"Do you like living in Hazelnook?"

"Yes, I like living here," Julia answered, looking somewhat surprised, perhaps at the question.

"Better—than in Russia, do you think?"

Julia's expression of surprise deepened. "I don't know about Russia," she said.

"You might like Greece better?" hazarded Gay. "Or, perhaps, Dakota?"

Julia's reply to these remarkable questions was not given, for just then a peal of the door bell caused everybody to jump and to look through the open door into the hall. Margery opened the door and there stood Lyman, Robert, Will, Fred, Joe and Herb.

"Excuse me!" cried Gay to astonished Miss Celia. Then with a bound he was in the hall, saying, "Come right in, fellows. I'm mighty glad to see you."

By this time Miss Celia and Miss Linn were ready to welcome the unexpected guests. After the introductions were gone through with, the boys drew a little apart and this gave Gay a chance to say,—

"I invited them yesterday. I don't know how I happened to forget to tell you. I suppose there are ices enough, aren't there?"

"Yes," said agitated Miss Linn.

Miss Celia watched the scene with interest; she was anxious to see how the fusion of the antagonistic elements was to be accomplished. She was not kept long in suspense. Taking Lyman's arm Gay led him round the room, introducing him to each prim lassie, with contagious ease of manner. After Lyman it was Robert's turn, then Will's, and thus it went until all the boys had been introduced.

Five terrible minutes followed. The boys huddled together, looking as if they might leave at any moment en masse, like a flock of frightened sheep! The girls drew apart, looking as austere as merry maidens of twelve summers can look. This would never do! A bright idea seized Gay.

"Ethel, do the girls know how to play 'Going to Jerusalem'?" he asked, anxiously.

"Yes," she replied, "but I don't believe those boys do."

"Boys can play any game naturally; they don't need to know how," laughed Gay.

"How do you know so much about boys?" asked Ethel, quizzically.

"By instinct," replied Gay, soberly, but with laughing eyes.

It may not have been just the thing, but Gay electrified the company by exclaiming,—

"Please take partners for 'Going to Jerusalem'!"

There was a hush over the room for an instant, then Gay whispered to Lyman,—

"Brace up and ask Miss Ethel."

Lyman obeyed and that set the ball rolling.

"I will play," said Miss Celia.

"And, auntie, will you call?" said Gay.

"I will call," said Miss Linn, taking her place by the piano.

Miss Celia struck the first chord and the game began. There were plenty of mistakes at first but they only served to break the ice of conventionality. The boys behaved admirably; so, strangely enough, did Gay; while the girls, led by Julia and Ethel, soon became gracious and natural. When they tired of the game Miss Linn undertook to initiate them into the mysteries of some old-fashioned games she had played in her youth, and with intervals for rest, the fun continued with increased enjoyment until they went out into the dining-room.

White frock and sash entitled Gay to a seat; but having played the active part of a boy for eleven years it was hard for him to relapse into the passive condition of a girl; to sit down and be waited upon. So he threw conventionality to the winds and flew about, serving the girls and helping the boys do their duty.

"Auntie," Gay said to Miss Celia, when everybody was chattering and laughing, and when even austere Sadie was actually eating a bon-bon with a member of the "common" Carver family, "I think they are having a good time, don't you?"

"Yes," said Aunt Celia, "you make a nice hostess, dear."

"Mother always says try to make everybody glad they came, and that is all there is to entertaining. So I tried. Nice boys, aren't they? And the girls are nice, too; particularly Ethel and Julia. I think they felt a little snubby at first, but they never showed their inside feelings a bit, and that's pretty hard for a girl, for when she feels snubby inside her nose goes up on the outside."

After supper there were more games and Dumb Crambo formed an edifying feature of the entertainment, but the party came to an end at length as all good things must in time. Everybody went away in high spirits. The boys expressed their pleasure in unqualified terms.

"It is the nicest time we ever had in Hazelnook," said Lyman, as the spokesman for the party. "Nobody else ever treated us as square as Brown has, and we are much obliged to her for it."

This was not an elegant adieu, perhaps, but it was sincere.

"Lyman," whispered the unblushing recipient of this praise, "don't forget to let me know about the ball game to-morrow; I'll get out, some way."

When the last guests were gone Gay and the aunts went into the drawing-room to talk it over.

"Pretty jolly time, wasn't it?" asked Gay, with a smile of satisfaction.

"The best of it is that it will do both the boys and the girls good to be brought together," said Miss Celia, "and I doubt if it would have been done if you had not come to Hazelnook."

"Well, you see," said Gay, earnestly, "I can't see any sense in putting one kind of people in one lump and another in another and having them think that they're different kind of folks, because they aren't at all, as you can tell easily enough if you take one out of each lump and change them about?"

"You were a niece to be proud of to-day, May," said Miss Linn, who was gratified at her young relation's social success, and not disposed to discuss the laws governing society in general.

"I don't think I'm much of a niece," said Gay, with a wicked grin, "but I'm glad if you are pleased with me. I meant to make them have a whooping old time."

And the two gentle aunts heard this outburst of slang without changing color, and in silence, so rapid had been their educational progress since the advent of their supposed niece.

A little later when Gay was taking off frock and sash in his room, his self-satisfaction was disturbed by an unpleasant thought, and he ran to the banisters and called,

"Aunt Celia, isn't it a shame; I forgot to ask Patsey. He's a splendid boy—I hope he won't feel hurt."

The aunts exchanged glances.

"She's hopeless!" sighed Miss Linn.

"A little lacking in social instinct, perhaps," faltered Miss Celia, as bewildered by this remark as her sister, but determined not to own it. "I've no doubt," she said, with unexpected inspiration, "that she will grow up to be a very elegant woman; such harum-scarums often do."