Uncle Jerry stayed only until Monday morning, and his visit seemed so short to Ruth that after he had gone she could hardly believe that it had really happened. Neither could she quite reconcile herself to the fact that out of that brief time he had taken two whole hours away from his only niece to call on Miss Burton. Her only consolation was that he had promised to return for the night of the grand entertainment, and he thought it probable that he should be able then to stay a week.

She had little time to think about her own affairs, for with the date of the entertainment once set the days flew by on wings. It was planned for the second Wednesday in April, which would come in the middle of the spring vacation, and thus give the girls a chance to rest after it was over. Once in the midst of their preparations, the girls began to realize how big a thing they had undertaken, and were fearful that they should not be able to make it a financial success. Fortunately their elders realized it, too, and came promptly to the rescue. Mr. Hamilton offered to pay for the hall, Mr. Marshall agreed to provide the tables and chairs, and to pay for having the stage enlarged, and the Candle Club boys devoted themselves to their hard-working friends, and were ready to do anything to help.

As time went on the lofty ideals with which the girls had started gradually diminished in fervor. At first they had planned to make the ice-cream and cake, but later they accepted with a gratitude that was almost pathetic Mrs. Hamilton's offer to take upon her own shoulders the duty of providing both of these necessities.

In spite of all this assistance, however, the week before the performance passed in a mad whirl of rehearsals and preparation of costumes, topped off on the very day before by the making of candy and the doing of innumerable last things. Even at nine o'clock on Tuesday evening Ruth and Arthur were still at work packing into paper boxes the crisp wafers which Ruth had engaged Mrs. Perrier to make for her.

"Fifteen, seventeen, nineteen," murmured Ruth. "Oh, dear, I'm so tired and sleepy I don't know whether there are twenty-five or twenty-four in two dozen."

"Go to bed then," laughed Arthur, "and I'll finish. There are not many more, anyway, and you've got the hustle of your life before you to-morrow."

Ruth pulled herself out of her chair slowly but with evident willingness. "Some folks don't give boys credit for being half so nice as they are, but I do," she announced with a smile of sleepy gratitude as she started out of the room.

Wednesday morning the Town Hall was the scene of such excited animation that it was difficult to tell whether anything was being accomplished or not. The Cooking Club girls and the Candle Club boys together with a dozen picked helpers had assembled to decorate the hall, and for the moment there seemed an endless confusion of boys, step-ladders, hammers and cheese-cloth.

"For goodness' sake, Phil," begged Dorothy, leaving a group of girls and running over to where Phil and Arthur were talking together, "won't you and Arthur take the management of this decoration? You've done it before and you know how it ought to look."

"All right, your Majesty," responded Phil. "Come on, Art; let's agree on a general scheme, and then you can boss this side of the room and I'll take the other."

"Ruth! Ruth! you're wanted," called a half-dozen voices at once, and Ruth stopped her work to find John, Mr. Hamilton's man, waiting at the door with a good-sized box.

"It's just come by express, Miss Ruth," said John, "and 'twas labeled
Town Hall, so Mrs. Hamilton thought you'd better open it here."

"Help me open it, some one, please," begged Ruth, and as the top boards were quickly ripped off, she took out first a letter from New York in Uncle Jerry's writing.

"Dear Ruth" (it began):

"I have just stumbled on a little shop devoted to souvenirs of Switzerland. The proprietor has a bad attack of homesickness, and can't stand New York any longer, so he is selling out at a sacrifice. It occurred to me that I might kill two birds, etc., by contributing to the good cause at Glenloch and helping this poor fellow at the same time. I thought you might make a little something by selling them for any price you can get.

"I shall probably get there almost as soon as the box, so won't stop to write more.

"Yours with love, Uncle Jerry."

Ruth had an interested audience as she unrolled some of the packages and peeped into others to see what they contained, and could he have heard the enthusiastic comments Uncle Jerry would have felt still more sure of his place in the hearts of his Glenloch friends.

"It's wasting time to look at them now," said Ruth with a sigh.
"We must arrange a table and put them on it this afternoon."

"What a pity that we couldn't have some one in Swiss costume to sell them," suggested Charlotte, who had paused in her work to take one look.

Ruth took in a quick breath as the idea struck her. "Do you suppose Mrs. Perrier,—or Marie," she thought aloud. "Why, Marie might even feel well enough to come herself if we sent for her and sent her home. Couldn't some one, couldn't you, Arthur, ride over and ask her?"

"Why, yes," agreed Arthur, hurrying after John to tell him to bring Peter Pan to the hall. He came back again in a minute to find Ruth and say coaxingly:

"Say, Ruth, John's got the carriage outside here, and why can't you just slip out and drive over with me? It'll do you good to get away from this noise and confusion for a while."

"Oh, I can't, possibly. It would be mean when the others are working so hard."

"You'll be back before they know you're gone," pleaded Arthur. "It'll do you so much good that you'll be able to work a great deal faster," added the wily youth.

"Go away, and don't tempt me," laughed Ruth. She started to leave him, but turned back to say earnestly: "Let's make Charlotte go with you. She's got a splitting headache, and she won't be fit for anything to-night if she doesn't rest for a while."

Arthur felt that he hadn't got quite all he was asking for, but he fell in with Ruth's idea cheerfully, and their united arguments persuaded Charlotte to go for the restful drive through the wooded roads.

They were back almost before Ruth could realize that they had started, and announced with an air of triumph that Marie would be delighted to come, and that Mrs. Perrier had a costume which could easily be made to do.

"And I begged her to bring her lace pillow," said Charlotte. "I thought that would add a touch to the whole occasion."

Ruth gave her a rapturous hug. "It will," she said joyfully. "And isn't it all going to be the finest thing you ever saw?"

The hall hummed like a beehive as the work went on, and little by little things took shape and began to promise a harmonious whole. It really seemed as though some good fairy were watching over affairs, for the carpenters finished their work and went at an early hour, the chairs and tables arrived in good season, and the big picture-frame which had been put together for the girls proved to be all that could be desired.

To be sure there were disagreements, and even accidents, for Bert and a step-ladder had a difference of opinion and collapsed together, and Betty dropped a pail of paste on Jack, who had politely stopped to admire the artistic work she and Frank were doing on the palmist's tent. As he was looking up and had just opened his mouth to say something complimentary the result was disastrous, and the poor fellow stood there blinded and gasping until Dorothy carne to the rescue with a wet towel.

At one o'clock the workers departed for lunch, a few of the boys and girls promising to come back in the early afternoon to finish the little that was left.

"I haven't the slightest idea whether it is going to look pretty or not," said Ruth wearily as they left the hall.

"Just wait until it's lighted," consoled Betty. "Then you'll see."

When the earliest of the audience arrived that evening the old hall, dressed in her best, was waiting to receive them. The cool green and white of the draperies softened the plainness of the walls, and a huge, round ball made of red and yellow roses and glittering with diamond dust swung from the centre chandelier and glowed in its light. Smaller balls hung from the side-brackets, each enclosing an electric bulb which shone with soft radiance through the vivid red and pale yellow of the roses.

In the comer nearest the door was a booth draped in pink and blue, and here two pretty girls in white were ready to sell the various delicacies made by the members of the Cooking Club. The girls had worked hard, and Ruth's maple fudge, Dorothy's creamed walnuts and dates, Katharine's salted nuts, and Alice's peanut brittle made such a tempting array that none could see without wanting to buy. Betty's contribution was a dozen glasses of delicious-looking orange marmalade, and behind them were piled boxes of Mrs. Perrier's crisp Swiss wafers.

As a joke Charlotte had brought in quite unexpectedly at the last moment a huge pan of baked apples, and she insisted on having them on the table in spite of the fact that the pan in its nest of pink crepe paper took up a large amount of space.

"The rest of you are represented by your masterpieces," she said, rolling out the long words with great relish. "So why shouldn't I put mine there? I'm sure I shall never achieve anything more perfect than those baked apples, and they're much more digestible than all that sweet stuff."

As usual Charlotte's argument was unanswerable, and the apples remained on the table, forming a sturdy and wholesome contrast to their more dainty companions.

At the front of the hall and quite near the stage sat Marie dressed in the pretty Bernese costume with its velvet bodice, and silver pins and chains. Before her was a table covered with Swiss carved work, bears, paper-knives, picture-frames, watch-stands and dainty edelweiss pins. Her eyes were sparkling and a faint color stole into her cheeks as she chatted in her soft voice with those who came to look at her wares.

In spite of the attractiveness of good things to eat and pretty things to see, the most popular place in the hall was the gaily decorated tent where Miss Burton in gypsy costume read palms. From the time the hall was opened there was a waiting group outside the tent where Dorothy took the money, and cut each five minutes off on the dot so that she might get in as many as possible. So many applicants were there that, when at half-past seven Ruth's Uncle Jerry arrived with the Hamiltons and a party of their Boston friends, there seemed to be no immediate chance that he would be able to penetrate the mysteries of the future with the aid of Miss Burton.

"Dear me, Miss Dorothy," he said beseechingly, "can't you make a special appointment for me? I'm afraid my life-line isn't strong enough to bear me up under such a disappointment."

"I'm afraid I can't, Mr. Harper," answered Dorothy firmly. "There are enough waiting now to keep the palmist busy until the entertainment begins, and after that you must take your chance with the others."

In the depths of her heart Dorothy was glad to turn away Uncle Jerry. He was altogether too much in a hurry, she thought with a little frown. She didn't want any one to like Miss Burton too much.

Uncle Jerry wandered off disconsolately, but solaced himself by buying candy and Swiss carvings until his hands were so full that he couldn't manage his parcels. Then, in a fit of desperation, he returned them all to the young ladies from whom he had bought them, begging them to sell them over again for the good of the cause.

At five minutes before eight there was a burst of applause as Phil appeared on the stage and requested the audience to be seated at the small tables, as the entertainment was about to begin.

When the confusion had subsided into silence, some one at the piano began to play softly, and the curtain parted to show in the frame a beautiful Spanish girl with fan and mantilla. Following her in quick succession came a fair-haired English girl, a smiling maiden from Japan with arched eyebrows and bright-colored parasol, and a rosy Dutch girl in cap and kerchief. Then a Turk sitting cross-legged upon his cushion smoked his long pipe and beamed affably on the audience, an Esquimaux gentleman came from his igloo in the north to pose for a moment, and a boyish Uncle Sam and John Bull shook hands fraternally.

Each picture was shown twice, but it was ail too short for the enthusiastic audience, which applauded so vociferously that Frank was obliged to step before the curtain and announce that owing to lack of time no encores could be given.

Then followed representations of celebrated paintings; the Girl with the Muff, a pathetic Nydia, and the charming little Dutch girl holding a cat. Molly Eastman posed for that with Bagheera, Betty's largest cat, clutched tightly in her arms. When Bagheera heard the applause he struggled wildly to escape, nearly knocking Molly over as he leaped from her arms just as the curtain covered the frame. Molly looked ready to cry because her picture could not be shown a second time, then snatching up her beloved Teddy bear, which went everywhere she did, she stood, triumphant, waiting for the curtain to be drawn. It was too good to be lost, and the boys pulled the curtain twice, much to Molly's joy and the delight of the audience.

This was the end of the first part of the program, and there was a buzz of conversation which softened into silence as the school orchestra filed on the stage. It was warmly greeted, for this was its first public appearance, and the proud parents of the performers were anxious to hear the results of their practice together. Like wise boys they didn't try to do anything great, but delighted the hearts of their hearers with a simple arrangement of some of the old patriotic songs that every one loves. They ended with the Star Spangled Banner and played it with so much spirit that the entire audience rose to do honor to the grand old song.

With the second drawing of the curtain, ten dainty Japanese ladies fluttered upon the stage with mincing steps, waving gay fans and bowing low as they drew up in line before the audience. So much did the flowing garments, the fan-bedecked hair and the slanting eyebrows change the girls that even some of the mothers failed at first to recognize their own daughters.

"I see Charlotte, and that one on the end is Ruth," announced the irrepressible Molly Eastman loudly, and then buried her head on her father's shoulder when every one turned to look at her.

The fan drill was beautiful to see, for the intricate marching, the delicate swaying of the figures, was done with a precision which gave no chance for criticism. The performers came out to bow their thanks for the hearty applause, and, when the audience refused to be satisfied, fluttered out again with fans held coquettishly before their faces. Then each girl extracted from her flowing sleeve a paper bird, and holding it as high as she could reach began to fan it into motion. It was a pretty sight; the gaily-colored birds flying in all directions, and the graceful girls, quick of eye and action, doing their utmost to keep them from falling. There were one or two narrow escapes, but not one really reached the floor, and at a signal they were caught upon the outstretched fans and the little ladies had fled.

"If that looks easy to you just try it," said Mrs. Hamilton during the pause in the program. "I made an attempt at it the other day when Ruth was practicing at home, and I found it the hardest thing I've undertaken for some time. It's wonderful training for the eye and muscles."

As she finished speaking, slow, dreamy music began on the piano and the curtains were pulled apart, disclosing a pedestal on which stood Dorothy in a flowing Greek robe and with her golden hair dressed in classic fashion. At first she was like a beautiful statue, then, as the music proceeded, she went through a series of poses, each one so vivid and graceful that when she became a statue once more and the curtain hid her from sight the hall rang with applause.

The program was already so long that Dorothy refused to repeat her number, and when the curtain was drawn again four fine lads stepped out to swing Indian clubs. The boys did it well and the fathers and mothers glowed with pride over the straight young figures and the easy grace which made the clubs seem like mere toys.

The last number was announced as a march by the Glenloch Academy children, and the boy who made the announcement couldn't keep from laughing as he hurriedly got out of sight.

"Rather unusual, isn't it, for boys and girls of that age to allow themselves to be called 'children'?" asked Mr. Hamilton, but even as he spoke his question was answered, for as the piano began a simple melody in rushed twelve children, blowing horns, jumping ropes, and pinching and pulling each other in very real fashion. There was a roar of laughter from the audience, for the boys were all figures of fun in their checked aprons and tassel caps. Tall Phil was a sight never to be forgotten as he smiled amiably on the world at large, but Joe had the best of it, for he was so plump and rosy that he looked fairly like the child he was trying to represent. The girls wore skirts which stuck out stiffly all around, and had their hair braided in pigtails and tied with ribbons to match their sashes. Betty looked the very picture of innocent, chubby childhood, and couldn't forbear making eyes at her adoring father, who sat near the stage, and seemed to find it difficult to look at any one but his engaging little daughter.

The piano struck up a stirring march, and the merry children dropped their toys and formed in line with Jack and Ruth as leaders. The performers did their best to make it as childlike as possible, and it was an amusing procession that the two captains led through intricate ways. It had an ending alike unexpected by performers and audience, for as they were going through one of the last figures, Joe slipped, made a heroic effort to recover his balance, and then sat flat on the floor facing the audience. He had such a funny, surprised look on his face that every one in the hall roared with laughter, much to his discomfiture. Then an idea seized him, and scrambling to his feet he put both fists in his eyes and bellowed like a naughty child. The others kept on marching, but he stood there inconsolable, until Betty, always quick to think, gave him a little shake in passing and held out to him a bright red apple she'd been nibbling. An ecstatic smile spread over his face, he grabbed the apple, took a big bite, and fell into line just as they all marched off the stage. So cleverly was it done that the audience decided that the fall had been intentional, and the whole thing a part of the performance, and gave Master Joe an extra salvo of applause when the children returned to make their bows.

As the curtains fell together for the last time, twenty-five girls dressed in white and carrying trays came into the hall. They wore coquettish little aprons, and large ribbon bows in a variety of color, and suggested butterflies as they flitted among the tables. One by one the performers, most of them still in costume, slipped out from behind the scenes.

"Is your lemonade good, Uncle Jerry, and are you having a nice time?" asked the Japanese maiden leaning confidingly on Mr. Harper's shoulder.

"Yes, to both the questions, 'Yuki-San,'" replied her uncle affectionately. "But, Ruth," he was speaking now in a low tone, "I shan't be really happy until I have my palm read; and perhaps not then," he finished inaudibly.

Ruth glanced quickly toward the palmist's tent. "Miss Burton said she should keep busy while the refreshments were served so as to make as much money as possible. I'll see if she can take you now."

Uncle Jerry watched until he saw Ruth beckon to him. Then he made his way quickly to the tent, and started in just as Dorothy resumed her position outside as guardian.

"Only five minutes, Mr. Harper," said Dorothy decidedly.

"Give me ten, Miss Dorothy," pleaded Uncle Jerry, "and I'll give you four times the price of admission. It's for the good of the cause, you know."

"For the good of the cause, then," she answered grudgingly. "Ten minutes and not an atom more."

"You're a terror, Dolly," laughed Ruth, slipping into the chair beside her. "How can you be so severe with my beloved Uncle Jerry?"

Dorothy's answer was slow in coming, and Ruth went on happily without waiting. "Don't you think we've made a big success? Everything's sold except two or three boxes of candy and a loaf or two of cake. And Marie's perfectly radiant because several people have given her orders for lace and embroidery."

Dorothy was holding her watch in her hand and almost counting each second as it ticked away. "Eight and a half," she murmured. "Why, yes, I do think it's a success, and won't it be fun when we can take the money over to Mrs. Perrier's and surprise Marie? Time's up, Mr. Harper," she added with cruel promptness, and Uncle Jerry, fearing the invasion of other applicants, didn't dare to disobey.

Dorothy looked at him critically as he emerged from the tent. There was no mistaking the triumphant light in his eye, and she saw that she must resign herself to defeat.

"Did she give you a good fortune, Uncle Jerry?" inquired Ruth.

"Splendid. The best in the world," he answered with such happiness in his voice that Dorothy felt her resentment fading away. "Now, Miss Japan, let's go and buy everything there is left," he added.

Dorothy watched them as they strolled away, and saw Uncle Jerry draw Ruth into a quiet comer, where he told her something that made her clasp her hands and look at him with beaming eyes.

"They haven't the least idea I've guessed," said Dolly to herself with a sad little shake of the head, "but I'll show them that a girl can keep a secret even when she hasn't been asked to."