were put together in a rather long
diamond shape with a row of openwork between every block. It was for her
daughter, who was going to be married in the spring, and it interested
the little girl wonderfully.

Then they talked about Steve and Dolly Beekman. While the girls were at
White Plains, Steve had coaxed his father and mother up to the
Beekmans', and the engagement had been settled with all due formality.
Dolly and her mother had been down and taken tea. And now Steve went up
every Sunday afternoon and stayed to supper, and once or twice through
the week, and took Dolly out driving and escorted her to parties.

The Beekmans were good, solid people, and Peggy ought to be satisfied
that Stephen had chosen so wisely. "Was it true that Steve had been
buying some land way out of town? Did he mean to build there?"

"Oh, dear, no!" answered his mother. "It was a crazy thing, but John had
really persuaded him, and John was too young to have any judgment. But
he said the Astors were buying up there, and land was almost given
away."

"I don't know what it's good for," declared Aunt Frasie. "Why it'll be
forty years before the city'll go out there. Well, it may be good for
his grandchildren."

They all gave a little laugh.

Presently another of the cousins sat down at the piano and played the
"Battle of Prague."

Then Aunt Frasie said, "Do sing something. It doesn't seem half like
music without the singing."

Maria Jane ran her fingers over the keys, and began a plaintive air very
much in vogue:

"Shed not a tear o'er your friend's early bier,
When I am gone, I am gone."

Aunt Frasie heard her through the first verse, and then said
impatiently:

"You've sung that at so many funerals, Maria Jane, that it makes me feel
creepy. You used to sing 'Banks and Braes.' Do try that."

It had been said of Maria Jane in her earlier years that she had sung
"Bonnie Doon" so pathetically she had moved the roomful to tears. Her
voice was rather thin now, with a touch of shrillness on the high notes,
but the little girl listened entranced. Then she sang "Scots wha' hae"
and "Roy's wife of Aldivaloch." Margaret had come home, the
supper-table was spread, the men came in, and they sat down to the
feast. They teased Steve a little, and bade John beware, and were so
merry all the evening that when it came her bedtime the little girl had
forgotten all about the world coming to an end.

The girls discussed it the next d