"Where is Katharine?" asked Mrs. Morton of the Ethels as Mary announced luncheon on the day before New Year's.

"She went over to Dorothy's. Shall I call her?"

"Give her a minute or two. She knows the luncheon hour," replied Katharine's hostess.

But a minute or two and more passed and no Katharine appeared.

"She must be lunching with Dorothy," suggested Ethel Blue.

"I'm sure Dorothy would have telephoned to ask if we had any plans that would interfere."

"It's twenty minutes past the hour; you'd better call and see if she's still there," said Mrs. Morton, "and we may as well sit down."

Helen was still at the telephone and the family was seated when Katharine came in.

"You didn't wait for me," she remarked with apparent surprise.

"Of course you didn't realize that the luncheon hour had struck," Mrs. Morton apologized for her. "Helen is calling Dorothy now to inquire about you."

Katharine made no reply and sat down with the injured air that she was in the habit of wearing when she thought that not sufficient deference had been paid her. She offered no apology or explanation and seemed to think, if any conclusion could be drawn from her manner, that she had a grievance instead of Mrs. Morton, whose family arrangements were continually being upset by her guest's dilatoriness and lack of consideration. The visit which had been looked forward to with such delight was not proving successful. For themselves the Ethels did not mind occasional delays, but they knew that all such matters interfered with the smooth running of the house, and they could not help wondering that Katharine should seem to think that her hostess should rearrange the daily routine to suit her.

The evening meal was to be supper and not dinner and it was to be especially early because it was to be cooked entirely by the young people. The Hancocks and the Watkinses were at the Mortons' by five o'clock. Dr. Watkins came out, too, by special invitation, but he asked if he might be permitted to pay a visit to Elisabeth while the rest were preparing the meal, in view of the fact that he was not skilled as a cook, and felt himself to be too old to learn in one lesson. He was allowed to go with strict injunctions to be back at half past six and to bring Miss Merriam with him.

The Ethels had planned beforehand what they were going to have for supper and the part that each was to take in the preparations.

When the aprons had been taken off and the guests were all seated at the table the supper went swimmingly. The oysters were delicious, the salad sufficiently "chunky" to please Roger, the biscuits as light as a feather and the fruit mÉlange as good to look at as if it was to eat.

The table decorations hinted at the New Year that was upon them. High in a belfry made of small sticks piled on each other criss-cross hung a small bell. Silver cords ran from it to each place so that every guest might in turn "Ring out the old, ring in the new." Beside the tower on one side stood the Old Year bending with the weight of his twelve-month of experience; on the other side was the fresh New Year, too young to know experience. Both were dolls dressed by Dorothy and Ethel Blue.

"I move you, Madam President," said Tom when the meal was nearly over, "that we extend a vote of thanks to the cooks for this delicious nourishment."

"I was just on the point of making that motion," laughed Edward Watkins.

"And I of seconding it," cried Miss Merriam. "It would come more appropriately from us."

"You were far too slow," retorted Tom. "I couldn't wait for you."

"As the president was one of the cooks she ought to place some one else in the chair to put a motion complimentary in part to herself, but as the maker of the motion and the seconder were also cooks we're all in the same box and I don't believe it's necessary. All in favor say 'Aye'."

A shout of "Ayes" followed.

"Contrary minded."

Silence.

"Madam President."

"Mrs. Morton has the floor."

"I don't want to seem inhospitable, but if you're going to reach the Atwoods' on time you'd better be starting."

There was a general scattering and a donning of outer garments. The boys picked up the bags and the Club started for the bridge, Dr. Watkins and Miss Merriam going with them.

When the Ethels had called on Mrs. Atwood and had asked her if the Club might visit her on New Year's Eve the old lady had been not only surprised but somewhat alarmed. She grew more cordial, however, when Ethel Brown explained it to her.

"Would you mind our asking some of our friends?"

"Not at all. We'd be glad to do the few small things that we've planned for just as many people as you can get in here."

"That isn't many," replied Mrs. Atwood, looking about her sitting room. "But there's one of my neighbors hardly ever gets to the stores or to a movie show, and I'd love to ask her in; and there's another one is just getting up from a sickness."

So the room was quite filled with guests when the Club members arrived.

"That's the boy that hung my gate for me last year the day after Hallowe'en," whispered one old woman as Roger made his way through the room, and several of them said, "Those are the young folks that went round after the regular Hallowe'en party this year and put back the signs and things the other people had pulled down."

The audience was so much larger than the Club had expected that Helen, as president, felt called upon to make a short explanation.

"We're very glad to see you here," she said, "but we don't want you to expect anything elaborate from us. We've just come to entertain our friends for a short time in a simple way. So please be kind to us."

Helen was wearing a pale pink dress that was extremely becoming, and her cheeks were flushed when she realized that these people had seen or heard of their more pretentious undertakings and might be expecting something similar from them now.

There was a reassuring nodding all over the room, and then the young people began their performance. Edward Watkins first played on the violin, giving some familiar airs with such spirit that toes went tapping as he drew his bow back and forth.

Dorothy followed him with Kipling's "I Keep Six Honest Serving Men." The music was Edward German's, and Helen played the accompaniment on Mrs. Atwood's little organ. The introduction was spirited and then Dorothy sang softly.

Dicky's turn came next on the program. He was introduced as the Honorary Member of the United Service Club, and the name of the poem that he was to recite was given as "Russian and Turk."

"We don't know who wrote these verses," Helen explained.

Dicky was helped to the top of a box which served as a stage and bobbed his bobbed hair at the audience by way of a bow. Every S he pronounced TH, which added to the pleasure of the hearers of the following lines:

There was a Russian came over the sea,
Just when the war was growing hot;
And his name it was Tjalikavakaree—
Karindobrolikanahudarot—
Shibkadirova—
Ivarditztova
Sanilik
Danevik
Varagobhot.

Dicky rattled off these names and two other similar stanzas with astonishing glibness to the amazement of his hearers. His first public appearance with the Club was undeniably a success.

The next number on the program necessitated the disappearance behind a sheet drawn across the end of the room of almost all the members of the Club. Helen, who was making the announcements, stayed outside. A light came into view behind the curtain and the lights in the room were put out.

"This is the last day of the year," began Helen when a muffled whisper had told her that all was ready, "and everybody is eager to know what is going to happen next year. We all would like to know, how the war is going to turn out, and what is going to be the result of the troubles in Mexico, and whether Rosemont will get its new park—"

She was interrupted by laughter, for Rosemont's new park was still a live subject although it never seemed to approach settlement one way or the other.

"What you are going to see now on the screen we call 'Prophecies.' The poet Campbell said that 'Coming events cast their shadows before,' and we might take that line for our motto. The first prophecy is one of trouble. It comes to almost every person at one time or another of his life."

Silence fell on the darkened room. On the sheet came the figure of Dicky. It was recognized by all and greeted with a round of applause. He looked around him as if hunting for something; then seized what was unmistakably a jam pot and began to eat from it with a spoon. His figure grew larger and larger and faded away as he walked back toward the light and disappeared beyond it. In his place came the figure of Edward Watkins, and those who knew that he was a doctor and those who guessed it from his physician's bag understood that his appearance was prophetic of Dicky's deliverance from the suffering caused by jam.

The light behind the sheet was moved close to the curtain while the table and chairs were set in place. When it went back to its proper spot there were seen the silhouettes of a group of men sitting around the table arguing earnestly.

"This," said Helen, "is the Rosemont Board of Aldermen talking about the park."

The argument grew excited. One man sprang to his feet and another thumped the table with his fist. Suddenly they all threw back their heads and laughed, rose and left the stage arm in arm.

"They're wondering why they never agreed before," Helen decided. "It's the Spring getting into their bones; and here are some of the people who are benefited by the park."

The table and chairs disappeared and a bench took their place. There followed a procession of folk apparently passing through the park. A workman, shovel and pick over his shoulder, stopped to look up at the trees. That was James. A young man and his sweetheart—Roger and Ethel Brown—strolled slowly along. Dicky rolled a hoop. Margaret, carrying a baby borrowed from the audience, sat down on a bench and put it to sleep.

The onlookers approved highly of this prophecy which was of a state of affairs which they all wanted.

"The other day," went on Helen in her gentle voice, "I found a prophecy that was not written for this war but for another, yet it is just as true for the great war that is devastating the homes and hearts of men today. It was written by Miss Bates who wrote 'America the Beautiful,' which we all sing in school, and it is called 'The Great Twin Brethren.' You remember that the Great Twin Brethren were Castor and Pollux. They were regarded as gods by the Romans. They fought for the Romans in the battle of Lake Regillus, and the high priest said about it, according to Macaulay:

Back comes the Chief in triumph
Who, in the hour of fight,
Hath seen the Great Twin Brethren
In harness on his right.

These are the divine helpers to whom Miss Bates refers in her poem."

On the screen there came into view the shadows of Castor and Pollux dressed like Roman knights—with a corselet over a loose shirt, a short plaited skirt, greaves to protect their legs, a helmet on the head and a spear in the hand. While Ethel Brown, who had stepped forward, read the poem, the two figures—really Roger and Tom, who were nearly of a height—stood motionless. As it ended they glided backward and faded from view.

THE GREAT TWIN BRETHREN

The battle will not cease
Till once again on those white steeds ye ride
O Heaven-descended Twins,
Before Humanity's bewildered host.
Our javelins
Fly wide,
And idle is our cannon's boast.
Lead us, triumphant Brethren, Love and Peace.
A fairer Golden Fleece
Our more adventurous Argo fain would seek,
But save, O Sons of Jove,
Your blended light go with us, vain employ
It were to rove
This bleak
Blind waste. To unimagined joy
Guide us, immortal Brethren, Love and Peace.

These beautiful lines were read with great seriousness and their profound meaning went to the hearts of the hearers. Its gravity was counterbalanced by the next prophecy which gave hope of immediate fulfilment. Across the screen passed a procession of Club members, the first carrying a plate full of something that proved to be doughnuts when one was held up so that its hole was visible. The second person in the row bore a basket heaped high with apples, the third a dish of cookies. Then came more doughnuts, nuts and raisins, corn balls, and oranges. The lights were turned on, and the silhouettes, changed by simple magic into laughing boys and girls, passed among the people distributing their eatables. Every one had a word of praise for them. The Atwoods, for whom the effort had been made, said little, but shook hands almost tearfully with each performer.

At home they found a rousing fire and something to eat awaiting them, with Mrs. Morton smiling a cheerful welcome. They sat before the fire and cracked nuts and ate apples until the chimes rang their notice that 1927 was vanishing into the past and giving way to the New Year of hope and promise. Clasping hands they stood quite still until the chimes stopped and the slow strokes of the town clock fell on their ears. With the last they broke into the hymn:

Now a new year opens,
Now we newly turn
To the holy Saviour,
Lessons fresh to learn.