sighed with relief that the great event was over at last.

"Nice crowd, eh?" remarked Papa Hart. He was brimful of joy and
second-class whiskey, so no one paid any attention to him.

"But did you see how shamefully Maude flirted with Willie Howard?" said
Lillian. Martha tossed her head in disdain; Mr. Howard she had always
considered her especial property, so Lillian's observation had a rather
disturbing effect.

"I'm so warm and tired," cried Mama Hart, plaintively, "children how are
we going to sleep to-night?"

Thereupon the whole family arose to devise ways and means for wooing the
drowsy god. As for the Hart Juniors they had long since solved the
problem by falling asleep with sticky hands and faces upon a pile of
bed-clothing behind the kitchen door.

* * * * *

It was late in the next day before the house had begun to resume
anything like its former appearance. The little Harts were kept busy all
morning returning chairs and dishes, and distributing the remnants of
the feast to the vicinity. The ice-cream had melted into a warm custard,
and the cakes had a rather worse for wear appearance, but they were
appreciated as much as though just from the confectioner. No one was
forgotten, even Mrs. Tuckley, busily stitching on a muslin garment on
the steps, and unctuously rolling the latest morsel of scandal under her
tongue, was obliged to confess that "them Hartses wasn't such bad people
after all, just a bit queer at times."

About two o'clock, just as Lillian was re-draping the tidies on the
stiff, common plush chairs in the parlor, some one pulled the bell
violently. The visitor, a rather good-looking young fellow, with a
worried expression smiled somewhat sarcastically as he heard a sound of
scuffling and running within the house.

* * * * *

Presently Mrs. Hart opened the door wiping her hand, red and smoking
with dish-water, upon her apron. The worried expression deepened on the
visitor's face as he addressed the woman with visible embarrassment.

"Er--I--I--suppose you are Mrs. Hart?" he inquired awkwardly.

"That's my name, sir," replied she with pretentious dignity.

"Er--your-er--may I come in madam?

"Certainly," and she opened the door to admit him, and offered a chair.

"Your husband is an employee in the Fisher Oil Mills, is he not?"

Mrs. Hart straightened herself with pride as she replied in the
affirmative. She had always