as the eye could see. On the last day he entertained the farmers
to dinner in the best parlor, and afterward they all stood in the
front garden, smoking cigars and praising Mrs. Dale's roses and
carnations.

Mavis too gave parties; but she as a rule exercised her hospitality at
the back of the house, where the little court and the petitioners'
bench near the kitchen door were more fully occupied than ever. Here
took place the annual summer tea-party for the cottage women, when
Mavis was quite like some squire's wife, being courtesied to,
receiving votes of thanks, and taking innocent pleasure in the
proudness of her position. A far bigger and more difficult affair was
when she invited all the children from the Orphanage. Long trestle
tables for the girls were set out on the grass paths of the kitchen
garden, with a separate and more stately table for the matrons and
governesses; urns had been borrowed, seats hired, mountains of food
and fruit got ready; and nevertheless the heart of Mavis almost failed
her when the two-and-two procession of blue-coated orphans began to
arrive. It seemed endless, an army, and she felt that she had
attempted something too big for her resources. However, everything
went off splendidly. The orphans whooped for joy as they broke their
formation and spread out, through the garden, far into the meadows.
Out there they looked like large bluebells; and at tea, when their
cloaks had been removed and their brown frocks showed, they looked
like locusts. Locusts could scarcely have eaten more. After tea Dale's
men came from the yard and brought the piano out of the house, and
Mrs. Dale played with stiff fingers while Norah Veale, Rachel, and the
orphans danced on the flags and up and down the grass paths. The poor
little orphans stayed late, and left regretfully. They said it had
been the treat of their lives.

But the most interesting party and the one that Mavis enjoyed most
came upon her unexpectedly.

One week Mr. Druitt the higgler failed to pay his usual visit, and
there was conjecture in the Vine-Pits kitchen as to the reason of his
absence. He had never before allowed a week to pass without a call.
Mavis asked Mary if he had written to her explaining his absence; and
Mary said no, and that she felt very anxious.

But next week he turned up, gay, jovial, looking ten years younger. He
stood just inside the kitchen door, smiled at all, and winked most
archly at Mary.

"See this, Mary?" A