“Now that we’ve been all over the place, come up to the attic and let us show you the old trunk full of costumes,” urged Martha, as the five children returned from the inspection of the grounds.

“Maybe the folks’ll be looking for us to change our clothes,” ventured Anne, looking carefully at the windows of the house, as they came into view from the path where the children skipped or ran.

“How long will it take you?” questioned Martha.

“Oh, we’ll have to take a bath, and my curls will have to be done over fresh, and a clean dress put on—dear me, we can’t have a speck of fun all starched up, you know!” complained Anne.

“Let’s get in without any one seeing us!” whispered George.

“How?” chorused the others.

“Mother and Aunt Ally will be on the front piazza or in the library. We’ll climb up on the balcony under the dining-room windows and get through that room to the pantry. There’s a back stairs in the butler’s pantry for the help to use. We can get to the third floor that way without being seen or having to go to the front at all,” explained George.

“Good! You scout about first while we wait under the lilac bushes,” whispered John, pushing George into the open.

Soon the anxious watchers saw George scramble over the railing of the low balcony and carefully open the outside shutters that were generally kept closed when the dining-room was unoccupied. Then he disappeared through the open window, and shortly after reappeared to beckon his friends to follow him.

One at a time, Indian fashion, they rushed over the grass and climbed the balcony. When all but Jim were inside the room, they breathed easier, but Jim’s bowed legs could not scramble up and over the rail as agilely as the others had and they had to venture out again to haul him up and over by his arms.

Once safely sheltered by the darkened dining-room, they tiptoed toward the pantry. The swing door was hardly still upon the five figures that passed through, when ladies’ voices were heard as Mrs. Parke and Mrs. Davis came from the library to go out on the veranda and see where the children were.

In the pantry, on the table, stood a plate filled with iced cookies for afternoon tea. Chopped walnuts were thickly sprinkled on the icing and most tempting did the cakes smell. Naturally the children could not pass by without a sniff and that was their undoing.

“My, but I’m hungry after that trip from Washington!” sighed Jack, eying the cakes.

“We all are, I reckon! May as well carry these cookies with us as to wait to eat them later,” suggested George, looking to Martha for approval of the plan.

“May as well! Carry dish and all to the attic—it will save Mary the work of washing extra plates,” came from thoughtful Martha, but had Mary been present she would have scorned the helpful suggestion.

Quick as a flash, therefore, George and the dish disappeared up the back stairway followed by his four devoted friends.

Safely harbored in the large attic room, the hungry children sat and ate the delicious cakes, till but two—the very smallest and scorched ones—remained on the plate for the two ladies.

“They’ll want some with their tea,” suggested Martha generously, picking a large piece of walnut from the one she determined for her mother.

“But they are not fond of sweets like we are,” hinted Anne, wistfully smacking her lips.

“We’ve each had four—all but Jim; he had that broken half and three!” declared John manfully.

“And we must not overeat cakes—there will be bread and jam with tea, you know,” cautioned George.

“Set the dish outside the door and that will end the thing!” said Anne sensibly, as she picked up the plate and did as she suggested.

The door was closed and locked to insure safety to the two cakes, in case any one of the five friends felt like venturing forth and taking a look at them.

“Here’s the chest of clothes,” now called Martha, lifting the lid to display the strange-fashioned garments.

“Try on the flowered silk—and the powdered wig,” cried Anne eagerly, as she lifted the articles from the folds of paper.

While the girls dressed in the quaint garments, the two boys, George and Jack, arrayed themselves in clothes worn at the time of the Civil War. John and Jim assisted enthusiastically and the laughter sounding from the attic drew the attention of old mammy the nurse, as she was passing down the second-floor hallway. She smiled and looked up the stairway, wondering what the youngsters were doing to make such a noise.

“Ah rickon Ah’ll jes’ creep up an’ see ef der all right,” murmured mammy, dropping her mending on a chair and going up.

Outside the room door she spied the dish with the two small cakes in it. She picked this up with a surprised expression on her face, for she knew her daughter had baked delicious cakes for tea.

“Ah wonner! Rickon Ah’ll tek dis right down in de kitchen an’ fin’ out ef them cakes is all safe an’ soun’ befoh Ah do anudder thing.”

Old mammy followed her own suggestion, and the cook was shocked.

“What! Dem fine cakes gone an’ nuttin for tea—an’ dat fine comp’ny heah, too!”

“Now, Ah’m tellin’ yoh! Jes’ fix dem rapscalions fo’ onct! Tek dat ice cream yo fixed foh dinnah an’ serve it fer affernoon tea ’stead uv dose cakes. Tell Missus Parke why an’ den leave nuff ice cream fer de grown-ups fer dinner to-night!” advised old mammy.

The cook pondered this suggestion, and as a smile gradually spread over her wide face, she clapped her hands on the table.

“Jus’ what Ah’ll do. You jus’ wait an’ see!”

“Now, don’ go an’ deprive dem chilluns uv nuff to eat—Ah means some goodies,” warned old mammy.

“See heah, mammy! Dis end uv de wuk am mine—an’ yoh’s is takin’ care uv de baby. Dem little limbs ain’ goin’ t’ eat up all de fancy eatin’s Ah bake, an’ mek de missus b’live Ah forgot t’ prepare fer her comp’ny!”

So old mammy ascended the kitchen stairs again, fearing she had made a great mistake by warning her daughter in time that the cakes were gone and there was nothing for tea! As she shook her gray head over the conflicts between the cook and the children, she reached the second floor where the mending had been left.

A voice calling from the library changed her current of despondency, and she leaned over the balustrade to reply.

“Ah hear’n dem chilluns up in de attick, Mis Parke. Shall Ah tell ’em yoh wants ’em?”

“Oh, please, mammy! And see if they are all dressed and ready for tea. I wish to ring for the tray,” replied Mrs. Parke.

Mammy climbed the stairs once more and opened the door of the room whence sounds of merriment came. She stood in the doorway, taking in at a glance the extraordinary scene that met her eyes.

John was robed in a long black cloth draped over his shoulders. He had on a maid’s white bib and shoulder straps cut from an old apron. The black material was the remnant of a felt table cover, very popular a score of years before; but most of the wool embroidery had been eaten off by moths, so the gay colors could easily be hidden by the folds.

He stood by the window with the great book on “Life of George Washington” in his hands, reading aloud from it.

Right before him stood Jack Davis and Martha—one robed in old-fashioned clothes worn by Parke ancestors before the Civil War, and the other dressed in the lavender flowered Watteau silk gown of her great-great-grandmother.

George was “best man” in a black swallow-tail coat with velvet cuffs, collar and pocket lapels. The buttons were gold-embroidered on black velvet. A high stock collar and a pot-shaped beaver hat gave him quite a Colonial appearance.

Jim took the left-overs, and to make the best of the assorted items, donned as many of them as he could keep on. The effect was very funny, and caused the principals in the scene to burst out in laughter every time they took notice of his raiment.

The rehearsal of the Washington wedding scene was taking place when old mammy quietly opened the door and stood watching.

“You didn’t come up right that time, Martha; try it again. And, Anne, don’t stumble over her dress when you carry the train!” ordered George, waving back the two girls to try again.

“How can I carry her train and drop flowers on the path at the same time? And if we’re to do it again, you’d better pick up the flowers,” complained Anne.

“Here, Jim—Hercules, I mean! You’re the servant now and you must do the chores,” ordered George, pointing to some faded artificial flowers sprinkled on the floor before the black-gowned minister.

Martha backed away, catching her satin high-heeled shoe in the very long Watteau pleats as she did so, and frantically catching at Anne to keep from falling.

“Now, then, begin again,” said George, looking for Jack, the groom, to march slowly out from behind the high bookcase. As both bride and groom appeared, George played on a mouth-organ to delude the actors into a belief that it was a wedding-march.

Martha, with bowed head covered with a piece of heavy lace window-curtain, marched across the floor, and Anne followed, holding the train with one hand and scattering the stiff old hat-trimmings with the other. Jim had to walk beside her and carry the basket.

Old mammy couldn’t contain herself—she chuckled at the sight, but quickly dodged out of the door the moment she realized that she would be discovered.

Sharp ears had heard the amused giggle, however, and Anne turned quickly to see who was at the door. As she did so, she stepped on Martha’s skirt, thus bringing the bride suddenly to a halt. Jim and Anne collided with Martha and the rehearsal almost ended disastrously for that day, as George was disgusted, and Jack threw himself on a near-by lounge to laugh.

But the lounge had both back legs broken off, unseen or unknown to the children, and when Jack’s weight came against the upholstered back, the whole piece toppled over backward, rolling the occupant over with it.

Jack yelled, George laughed, John dropped the heavy history book on his toe and cried, and the others stood in surprise waiting for Jack to crawl out from under the lounge and appear again, this time with cobwebs and dust covering him.

Old mammy ran in at the clamor and helped the groom to his feet. Then all stood and laughed at the outcome of the first rehearsal of the great Washington-Custis wedding.

“Yoh mama says to come t’ tea! Mammy-cook baked some fine choklate cakes fer yo’ all,” said mammy seriously.

The wedding party exchanged looks with each other and it was seen that Jim appeared to be most uncomfortable. He looked back of him and then at his granny, then at his companions-in-disgrace, but they seemed not to feel the same dismay at a possible punishment such as Jim had reasons to anticipate.

Old mammy helped the wedding party free itself of the many and entangling articles of dress, and then they all hurried down to tea, regardless of mammy’s pleading to wash and brush up.

In the library, both mothers were waiting and chatting when the juvenile party rushed in. They never entered a room—it was either a mad rush from the hallway or a stealthy entrance through a window.

“Why, children! Haven’t you been up in the bathroom washing and dressing after the journey, and preparing to come down to tea?” asked Mrs. Davis in surprise.

“Oh, we prepared somewhat for tea, aunty, but not with soap and water,” replied Martha.

“What have you been doing all this time?—and here is John, too. How do you do, John? Come here and meet George and Martha’s aunt from Philadelphia,” said Mrs. Parke sweetly.

As John shuffled over to shake hands with Mrs. Davis, a woolly head peeped from between the folds of the velour portiÈres, where a lean little body was completely hidden. Jim felt that, as Hercules the man-servant, he had a right to watch the toothsome refreshments disappear even if he couldn’t partake of the same.

“Well, mother, we really hadn’t a moment’s time in which to wash and dress. We’ve visited the whole place, met John and Jim, and rehearsed for the wedding. So, you see, we have been a bit crowded for time in which to brush up,” explained Jack.

“Wedding? What wedding?” asked Mrs. Davis, in surprise.

Mrs. Parke thought she saw light, however, and turned to George. “Is the Custis wedding coming off soon?”

“Yes, but Martha says she won’t marry me as Washington. She thinks Jack looks better in the cocked hat,” grumbled George.

“But looks never make the general!” laughed Mrs. Parke.

Then, turning to the still amazed guest, she explained.

“I have lately been reading the life of George Washington to the children and they have a great deal of fun playing the chapters as I read them. Only they sometimes have very realistic fun—for instance when they burned down the old homestead, and again when they went on a survey trip. Last week they had the dreadful battle between the French and British at Fort Duquesne, and as a result, our entire hedge is broken down for more than thirty feet in length.”

“Thank goodness, then, that history has reached the point where Martha Custis subdues the fighting inclination of George,” laughed Mrs. Davis.

The maid appeared with tea just then, and in the deep dish where so many tempting cakes had reposed in the early afternoon, there now were two lonely scorched cookies. Thin slices of buttered bread without jam, and hot waffles sugared but with no honey, caused consternation in all present.

“Katy, is there any jam?” asked Martha.

“Mammy say dat jam’s goin’ t’ stay locked up fer anudder day!”

“Katy!” gasped Mrs. Parke. “What are these scorched cakes doing here?”

“Cook say ast Marse George an’ Martha. Dey knows better’n we-all.”

“Oh, yes, I remember, mother. When our cousins arrived they felt very weak and hungry, so I suggested a little bite, to keep them up till tea was served. I found the dish of cookies the most convenient, and, not wishing to disturb the cook, who was busy, I insisted upon their having a few,” explained George.

And Martha hastily added: “Naturally, not wishing to make our visitors feel that they were giving us any trouble, we ate some cakes, too, to make them feel at home.”

“Well, the cakes felt very much at home, I’m sure!” laughed Mrs. Davis, who was accustomed to these escapades, as well as Mrs. Parke.

“But that need not deprive you ladies of the jam, you know!” hinted Jack.

“Nor uv dis ice cream dat cook sent up fer de two ladies t’ tek de place uv dem cakes!” added Katy significantly, placing a deep dish of French cream before each one of the ladies.

The children stared aghast at such partiality, and then looked at each other, wondering if they would have had ice cream, had they not eaten the cakes.

At the discovery that no cakes or jam were to be served at that tea, Jim silently disappeared from the friendly portiÈres, and soon after appeared in the culinary department, watching for an opportunity to snatch a slice of bread and butter when his mammy’s back was turned. And, oh joy! An apple was right there by the homely chunk of bread. In another moment Jim and the apple were gone, and when mammy turned to put the apple in the barrel, the place knew it no more!