me "good old Minnie," and for heaven's sake not to cry so loud.
But I was past caring. I had a sort of recollection of his getting me to
stand up, and our walking through about twenty-one miles of snow to the
spring-house. When we got there he stood off in the twilight and looked
at me.

"I'm sorry, Minnie," he said, "I never dreamed it would do that."

"Do what?"

"Nothing. You're sure you won't forget?"

"I never forget," I said. I had got up the steps by this time and was
trying to figure why the spring-house door had two knobs.

I hadn't any idea what he meant.

"Remember," he said, very slowly, "Thoburn is going to have his
party to-night instead of to-morrow. Tell Pierce that. To-night, not
to-morrow." I was pretty well ashamed when I got in the spring-house and
sat down in the dark. I kept saying over and over to myself, so I'd not
forget, "tonight, not to-morrow," but I couldn't remember WHAT was to be
to-night. I was sleepy, too, and my legs were cold and numb. I remember
going into the pantry for a steamer rug, and sitting down there for a
minute, with the rug around my knees before I started to the house. And
that is all I DO remember.

I was wakened by a terrible hammering in the top of my head. I reached
out for the glass of water that I always put beside my bed at night and
I touched a door-knob instead. Then I realized that the knocking wasn't
all in my head. There was a sort of steady movement of feet on the other
side of the door, with people talking and laughing. And above it all
rose the steady knock--knock of somebody beating on tin.

"Can't do it." It was the bishop's voice. "I am convinced that nothing
but dynamite will open this tin of lobster."

"Just a moment, Bishop," Mr. Thoburn's voice and the clink of bottles,
"I have a can opener somewhere. You'll find the sauce a la Newburg--"

"Here, somebody, a glass, quick! A bottle's broken!"

"Did anybody remember to bring salt and pepper?"

"DEAR Mr. Thoburn!" It sounded like Miss Cobb. "Think of thinking of all
this!"

"The credit is not mine, dear lady," Mr. Thoburn said. "Where the deuce
is that corkscrew? No, dear lady, man makes his own destiny, but his
birth date remains beyond his control."

"Ladies and gentlemen," somebody said, "to Mr. Thoburn's birthday being
beyond his control!"

There was the clink of glasses, but I had remembered what it had been
that I was to remember. And now it was too late. I was trapped in the
p