, but I telegraphed to them not to deliver them
until the next day, even if they did spoil. How could I use smelts when
Mrs. Wade had sent me word that she was going to bake some brook trout
by a recipe of the judge's grandmother's? Mrs. Hampton Buford had let
me know about two fat little summer turkeys she was going to stuff with
chestnuts, and roast fowl seemed foolish eating beside them. But when
the little bit of a baby pig, roasted whole with an apple in its mouth,
looking too frisky and innocent for worlds with his little baked tail
curled up in the air, arrived from Mrs. Caruthers Cain, I went out into
the garden and laughed at the idea of having spent money for lobsters.

When I got back in the kitchen things were well under way, everything
smelling grand, and Aunt Bettie in full swing matching up my dinner
guests.

"Nobody in this town could suit me better than Pet Buford for a
daughter-in-law, and I believe I'll have all the east rooms done up with
blue chintz for her. I think that would be the best thing to set off her
blue eyes and fair hair," she was saying as she cut orange peel into
strips.

"You've planned the refurnishing of that east wing to suit the style of
nearly every girl in Hillsboro since Tom put on long trousers, Bettie
Pollard, and they are just as they have been for fifteen years since you
did up the whole house," said Mrs. Johnson as she poured a wine-glass
half full from one bottle and added a tablespoonful from another.

"Well, I think he is really interested now from the way he spent most of
his time with her down at the hotel the other night, and I have hopes
I never had before. Now, Molly, do put him between you and her, sort of
cornered, so he can't even see Ruth Clinton. She is too old for him."
And Tom's mother looked at me over the orange-peel as to a confederate.

"Humph, I'd like to see you or Molly or any woman 'corner' Tom Pollard,"
said Mrs. Johnson with a wry smile as she tasted the concoction in the
wine-glass.

"I have to put him at the end of the table because he is my kinsman and
the only host I've got at present, Aunt Bettie," I said regretfully.
I always take every chance to rub in Tom's and my relationship on Aunt
Bettie, so that she won't notice our friendliness.

"I'd put John Moore at the head of the table if I were you, Molly
Carter, because he's about the only man you've invited that has got
any sense left since you and that Clinton girl took to going about