Mrs. Eden sank upon a chair. "I reckon you-all 'll have to do it," she said, "but I 'most know Aunt Polly will say something about step-mothers."

Will nibbled at his meat and shook his head in sorrowful anticipation. "Mary, could you come over Friday afternoon and help get up a cake, or something? Grandmother's afraid her doings won't exactly suit Cousin Waldo. And you know if he isn't suited, he'll turn to snubbing his wife. If we can possibly keep him jollied up, we hope Cousin Elizabeth will enjoy the evening with us kinfolks."

"Of course, I'll come," cried Mary. "Will, here's a little more steak than I want. If you don't mind eating after me

"Just hand her over!" cried Will promptly. "Say! this is fine. We didn't have anything to-night but bread and molasses at our house. But I must run back to the store now, so grandpa can go and get his bread and molasses. My! won't I crow over him, though!"

Mrs. Eden looked after Will and murmured, "Just like a ray of sunshine!"

Mary went to Timothy's house obediently on Friday afternoon. She was attired in her plain work-dress. It was her intention to go home after cake-baking to make herself suitable for the august gathering. Once installed in her Aunt Polly Thornberry's kitchen, she took possession and drove her aunt, without much coercion, to the room to rest up for Cousin Waldo McCormack. Being alone, there were too many things to watch at the same time, and too many burnings in her past experience, to admit of connected thought. The clock ticked on to four, and then to half-past. The bank was closed, but Mary did not think of

that till the door suddenly opened; and there stood Peter.

He was more surprised than she; for, with a mind inherently above all petty details of commonplace life, he accepted his cakes and pies, not questioning whence they came. Being thus shocked out of the routine of his thought-grooves, it was as if he saw Mary with new eyes. He suddenly woke to a conviction that she was pretty. Perhaps it was the pink apron; perhaps it was the disordered hair; the flushed cheeks; the shy gladness in the dark orbs.

For Mary was glad.

In an instant, every cloud had vanished, and her old hero had made his appearance, the keys of infallibility once more in his grasp. There was, without doubt, an air of distinction and dignity about the young man, imparted by an assured bearing and a devotion to what he regarded as the correct. In an odd way, although his soul was far above the commonplaces of a kitchen, it seemed to him that Mary's form had never appeared so graceful or her face so winning as in these homely surroundings.

"You here!" he cried, advancing with a pleased bow. "This isn't fair, to make you labor that we may enjoy the result."

“Oh, I like it,” said Mary happily. "It is like working behind the scenes, and you know I am invited to the show, also. I am getting ready the ropes, so there may be no hitch in the performance." She laughed

out.

Peter, standing behind her, laid his hand upon her head. She stopped suddenly in her work, amazed. There came the wild thought that perhaps he was about to express remorse for something-she knew not what

-for his passing subjection, perhaps, to the charms of the music-teacher.

"Mary," said Peter, in a low, thrilling voice, "I never realized before how beautiful you are. Mary! you are so beautiful!" His arm had gone swiftly about her. He kissed her abruptly.

Mary tore herself from his embrace. She wheeled about and looked him in the eyes. Her face was scarlet. Her bosom rose and fell with quick irregularity. Peter stood bewildered, partly overawed by her long, solemn look; but, principally, because he realized that he had acted on a blind, fierce impulse,—an impulse common to the vulgar herd. It was not so much that he had offended Mary, as that he had offended himself. He was even displeased with her in an illogical, but natural way, because she had been the cause of his acting in a manner unworthy of Peter Thornberry.

There was a deathlike stillness in the kitchen, broken only by the sharp ticking of the clock.

Then Mary spoke in a low, tremulous voice which seemed not so much accusing, as humbled: "What have I ever done," she asked, "that you should insult me?" "Mary!" he faltered. "I beg your pardon. I am so sorry. I”

the lips he

A low cry came from her pale lips, might easily have won the right to press. hands over her face, and fled from the room.

She put her

CHAPTER IX

"You must be sure to be at home on time," Mrs. Polly Thornberry warned her husband as he started to the grocery after dinner on the eventful Friday. "Remember it is to be at six o'clock, and if Cousin Waldo is kept waiting three minutes, he'll be in an ill temper all evening; not that it matters so much about him, if he didn't take it out on poor Elizabeth. And you mustn't let the cat into the dining-room while we are at the table; Cousin Waldo wouldn't know what to think of us, if Thomas Jefferson was allowed to eat at the side of your chair.”

The old gentleman paused at the gate, knowing from long experience that there was more coming. Mrs. Thornberry raised her voice, she stood on the screened-in porch at the rear: "And if Cousin Waldo undertakes to read us any of his compositions, Timothy, now listen at me, Timothy, don't you yawn and fidget as you did that time you mortally offended him. And I'll put the pearl-handle knife at your plate, one at Cousin Waldo's and one at yours; and every time you take up yours, it'll remind you not to put it in your mouth, as Peter is always advising about. Cousin Waldo can't eat with any one who puts their knives in their mouths, Timothy."

"Honey," Timothy called back cheerfully, "just take all this burden off of your mind, for I'm going right downtown to deed the place to Cousin Waldo; see to

it, that you don't mention step-mothers when he comes to take possession."

The old lady laughed and so did the captain; but they saw the hour of six approach with a gradually increased weight of solemnity. Timothy was at home betimes. The house was spick and span, and poor Mrs. Polly was in the last degree of exhaustion.

"He'll have a clean house to look at," gasped the hostess, picking up one more pin, "but I don't promise him any old woman at the head of the table. Timothy, I'm most dead."

"You couldn't be in a better state, to receive Cousin Waldo," remarked Timothy. "Ain't it a pity people have to get on a strain to receive their nearest kin? There's my half-brother,—I never get with Groner that I don't feel as I was drying up and getting ready to catch afire. I'll go sit out on the porch and wait for 'im. It's just six now, and they won't nobody be here for half an hour, I reckon. Where's Will's new hat?"

The article referred to was a new straw hat with perforated crown, which Will and his grandfather used in partnership on great occasions. Thus, Timothy wore it to church while Will carried his last year's "straw"; but Will had full possession at picnics and other occasions devoted primarily to youth, while at such times the grandfather hovered on the outskirts in his slouch-hat, already faded and brown.

"I guess Will has it on," said his wife, who had cast herself upon the couch in an ecstasy of delayed repose.

"Nope, honey, he told me expressly that he'd left it here, so I could do the honors to Waldo. But, good fathers alive! Polly, there comes the man down the street at this minute!

He was invited for six, and he's