her day in the
library, when we were turning out all the drawers, I found a whole lot
of `At Home' cards, and the list of fellows that were asked to Roger's
birthday party."

"How lovely!" exclaimed Jill; "we'll just--"

But here the return of Raffles, and a significant scowl from Tom, warned
her to defer her suggestion.

The meal over, the conspirators met in the library, and put their heads
together over Tom's documents.

"That's about the ticket, isn't it?" said he, displaying one of the
invitation cards which he had experimentally filled up.

"_Dr Brandram_--

"_Mr and Miss Oliphant at home on Wednesday, December 2, at 7
o'clock. Music, dancing, fireworks, etcetera_.

"_R.S.V.P_."

"But we haven't got any fireworks," suggested Jill; "we'll have to get
some. And what about the band?"

"I shall write to the Colonel of the Grenadiers and order it. Anyhow,
you can play the Goblin polka if we get stuck up."

Jill wondered whether, after an hour or two, her one piece (even though
dear Mr Armstrong liked it) might not pall on a large assembly, and she
devoutly hoped the Grenadiers would accept.

"There's a hundred and fifty names down," said Tom. "May as well have
the lot while we're about it."

"Isn't two days rather a short invitation?" asked Jill.

"Bless you, no. You see, we're not out of mourning. Besides, Mother
Parker may be well again if we don't look sharp, or Armstrong may turn
up."

"How I wish he would!"

"He'd spoil everything. Look here, Jill, look alive and write the
cards. I'll call out."

The two spent a most industrious morning, so much so that the household
marvelled at their goodness, and remarked to one another, "The children
are no trouble at all."

Towards the end of the sitting Tom flung down his paper with a whistle
of dismay.

"I say, Jill, they ought to be black-edged!"

Jill turned pale.

"What is to be done?" she gasped.

"We'll have to doctor them with pen and ink," said Tom.

So for another hour or so they occupied themselves painfully in putting
their invitations into mourning. The result was not wholly
satisfactory, for a card dipped edgeways into a shallow plate of ink is
apt to take on its black unevenly. So that while some of the guests
were invited with signs of the slightest sorrow, the company of others
was requested with tokens of the deepest bereavement. However, on the
whole the result was passable, and that evening Tom slunk down t