en Celia spoke. "You're the biggest dear of anybody," she said,
with a smile.

* * * * *

It was getting up a party in a hurry, but somehow the thing was
accomplished. Whether Lanse remembered his own birthday at all was a
question. When he came home at six o'clock on that day, Charlotte told
him that she had special reasons for seeing him in his best.

"Why, you're all dressed up yourself," he observed. "What's up?"

"Doctor Forester's coming out to hear us play," was all she would tell
him, and Lanse groaned over the fact that the little orchestra was so
out of practice.

When the guests arrived, they found the man with the birthday anxiously
looking over scores. He greeted them with enthusiasm.

"Doctor Forester, this is good of you, if we can't play worth a copper
cent. Miss Atkinson! Well this is a surprise--a delightful one! Miss
Carolyn, how goes school? How are you, Norman? You'll find Just in a
minute. Miss Houghton, now you and I can settle that little question we
were discussing. Charlotte, you rogue, you and Uncle Ray are at the
bottom of this! Ah, Doctor Churchill! This wouldn't have been complete
without our neighbour. Miss Atkinson, allow me to present Doctor
Churchill."

Thus John Lansing Birch accepted at once and with his accustomed ease
the role of host, and enjoyed himself immensely. Celia, watching him
from her couch, said suddenly to Captain Rayburn, who sat beside her:

"This is just what the family needed. If you hadn't come we should
probably have gone drudging on all winter without realising what was the
matter with us. No wonder poor Lanse appreciates it. He's had a month of
hard labour without an enlivening hour. And Charlotte--doesn't she look
like a fresh carnation to-night?"

"Very much," agreed the captain, with approving eyes on his younger
niece, who wore her best frock of French gray, a tint which set off her
warm colouring to advantage. Celia had thrust several of Captain
Rayburn's scarlet carnations into her sister's belt, with a result
gratifying to more than one pair of eyes.

"Still," remarked the captain, his glance returning to Celia, "I'm not
sure that I can say whether a fresh carnation is to be preferred to a
newly picked rose. That pale pink gown you are wearing is certainly a
joy to the eye."

Celia blushed under his admiring glance. There could be no question that
she was very lovely, if a trifle frail in appearance from her mont