uffed, and sent whimpering in
the back-yard, Mrs. Tuckley continued,

"Yes as I was saying, 'course, taint none o' my business, but I always
did wonder how them Harts do keep up. Why, them girls dress just as fine
as any lady on the Avenue and that there Lillian wears real diamond
ear-rings. 'Pears mighty, mighty funny to me, and Lord the airs they do
put on! Holdin' up their heads like nobody's good enough to speak to. I
don't like to talk about people, you know, yourself, Mrs. Luke I never
speak about anybody, but mark my word, girls that cut up capers like
them Hartses' girls never come to any good."

Mrs. Luke heaved a deep sigh of appreciation at the wisdom of her
neighbor, but before she could reply a re-inforcement in the person of
little Mrs. Peters, apron over her head, hands shrivelled and soap-sudsy
from washing, appeared.

"Did you ever see the like?" she asked in her usual, rapid breathless
way. "Why, my Louis says they're putting canvass cloths on the floor,
and taking down the bed in the back-room; and putting greenery and such
like trash about. Some style about them, eh?"

Mrs. Tuckley tossed her head and sniffed contemptuously, Mrs. Luke began
to rehearse a time worn tale, how once a carriage had driven up to the
Hart house at nine o'clock at night, and a distinguished looking man
alighted, went in, stayed about ten minutes and finally drove off with a
great clatter. Heads that had shaken ominously over this story before
began to shake again, and tongues that had wagged themselves tired with
conjectures started now with some brand new ideas and theories. The
children of the square, tired of fishing for minnows in the ditches, and
making mud-pies in the street, clustered about their mother's skirts
receiving occasional slaps, when their attempts at taking part in the
conversation became too pronounced.

Meanwhile, in the Hart household, all was bustle and preparation. To and
fro the members of the house flitted, arranging chairs, putting little
touches here and there, washing saucers and glasses, chasing the Hart
Juniors about, losing things and calling frantically for each other's
assistance to find them. Mama Hart, big, plump and perspiring, puffed
here and there like a large, rosy engine, giving impossible orders, and
receiving sharp answers to foolish questions. Lillian, the aesthetic,
practiced her most graceful poses before the large mirror in the
parlor; Martha rushed about, changing the orde