sirloin roast on a noble platter awaited Grandpa Orde's knife.

Orde dropped into his place with satisfaction.

"Shut up, Cheep!" he remarked to a frantic canary hanging in the
sunshine.

"Your friend seems a nice-appearing young man," said Grandma Orde.
"Wouldn't he stay to dinner?"

"I asked him," replied Orde, "but he couldn't. He and I have a scheme
for making our everlasting fortunes."

"Who is he?" asked grandma.

Orde dropped his napkin into his lap with a comical chuckle of dismay.

"Blest if I have the slightest idea, mother," he said. "Newmark joined
us on the drive. Said he was a lawyer, and was out in the woods for his
health. He's been with us, studying and watching the work, ever since."

IX

"I think I'll go see Jane Hubbard this evening," Orde remarked to his
mother, as he arose from the table. This was his method of announcing
that he would not be home for supper.

Jane Hubbard lived in a low one-story house of blue granite, situated
amid a grove of oaks at the top of the hill. She was a kindly girl,
whose parents gave her free swing, and whose house, in consequence, was
popular with the younger people. Every Sunday she offered to all who
came a "Sunday-night lunch," which consisted of cold meats, cold salad,
bread, butter, cottage cheese, jam, preserves, and the like, warmed by
a cup of excellent tea. These refreshments were served by the guests
themselves. It did not much matter how few or how many came.

On the Sunday evening in question Orde found about the usual crowd
gathered. Jane herself, tall, deliberate in movement and in speech,
kindly and thoughtful, talked in a corner with Ernest Colburn, who was
just out of college, and who worked in a bank. Mignonne Smith, a plump,
rather pretty little body with a tremendous aureole of hair like spun
golden fire, was trying to balance a croquet-ball on the end of a ruler.
The ball regularly fell off. Three young men, standing in attentive
attitudes, thereupon dove forward in an attempt to catch it before
it should hit the floor--which it generally did with a loud thump.
A collapsed chair of slender lines stacked against the wall attested
previous acrobatics. This much Orde, standing in the doorway, looked
upon quite as the usual thing. Only he missed the Incubus. Searching the
room with his eyes, he at length discovered that incoherent, desiccated,
but persistent youth VIS-A-VIS with a stranger. Orde made out the white
of her gown in