end it in to 'em sort o'
mysteriously. How'd that do?"

"'Twouldn't do at all," Meg replied. "The idea! Who'd enjoy the finest
Christmas dinner in the world by his lone self, with nothin' but a
lookin'-glass to look into and holler 'Merry Christmas' to?"

Conrad laughed. "Well, the Professor's little cracked glass wouldn't be
much of a comfort to a hungry fellow. It gives you two mouths."

Conrad was nothing if not facetious.

"There you are again, Buddy! _Do_ be serious for once." And then she
added, desperately, "The thing _I_ want to do is to _invite_ 'em."

"Invite!"

"Who?"

"What?"

"When?"

"How?"

"Where?"

Such was the chorus that greeted Meg's astounding proposition.

"Why, I say," she explained, nothing daunted, "let's put all our
Christmas money together and get the very best dinner we can, and invite
all the roomers to come and eat it with us. _Now I've said it!_ And I
ain't foolin', either."

"And we haven't a whole table-cloth to our names, Meg Frey, and you know
it!" It was Ethel who spoke again.

"And what's that got to do with it, Sisty? We ain't goin' to eat the
cloth. Besides, can't we set the dish-mats over the holes? 'Twouldn't be
the first time."

"But, Meg, dearie, you surely are not proposing to invite company to
dine in the kitchen, are you? And who'd cook the dinner, not to mention
buying it?"

"Well, now, listen, Sisty, dear. The dinner that's in my mind isn't a
society-column dinner like those Momsy writes about, and those we are
going to invite don't wear out much table-linen at home. And they cook
their own dinners, too, most of 'em--exceptin' when they eat 'em in the
French Market, with a Chinaman on one side of 'em and an Indian on the
other.

"_I'm_ goin' to cook _ours_, and as for eatin' in the kitchen, why, we
don't need to. Just see how warm it is! The frost hasn't even nipped the
banana leaves over there in the square. And Buddy can pull the table out
on the big back gallery, an' we'll hang papa's old gray soldier blanket
for a portiere to keep the Quinettes from lookin' in; and, Sisty, you
can write the invitations an' paint butterflies on 'em."

Ethel's eyes for the first time sparkled with interest, but she kept
silent, and Meg continued:

"An' Buddy'll bring in a lot of gray moss and _latanier_ to dec'rate
with, an'--"

"An' us'll wait on the table!"

"Yes, us'll wait on the table!" cried the twins.

"But," added Felix in a moment, "you mus'n't in