y?"

"'Tain't elegant at all," said Mrs. Marx. "If this was in one o' the
elegant places, there'd be a bunch o' flowers in the pig's mouth, and a
ring on his tail."

At the face which uncle Tim made at this, Lois's gravity gave way; and
a perfect echo of laughter went round the table.

"Well, I don' know what you're all laughin' at nor what you mean," said
the object of their merriment; "but I should uncommonly like to know."

"Tell him, Lois," cried Madge, "what a dinner in New York is like. You
never did tell him."

"Well, I'm ready to hear," said the old gentleman. "I thought a dinner
was a dinner; but I'm willin' to learn."

"Tell him, Lois!" Madge repeated.

"It would be very stupid for Mrs. Barclay," Lois objected.

"On the contrary!" said that lady. "I should very much like to hear
your description. It is interesting to hear what is familiar to us
described by one to whom it is novel. Go on, Lois."

"I'll tell you of one dinner, uncle Tim," said Lois, after a moment of
consideration. "_All_ dinners in New York, you must understand, are not
like this; this was a grand dinner."

"Christmas eve?" suggested uncle Tim.

"No. I was not there at Christmas; this was just a party. There were
twelve at table.

"In the first place, there was an oval plate of looking-glass, as long
as this table--not quite so broad--that took up the whole centre of the
table." Here Lois was interrupted.

"Looking-glass!" cried uncle Tim.

"Did you ever hear anything so ridiculous?" said Charity.

"Looking-glass to set the hot dishes on?" said Mrs. Marx, to whom this
story seemed new.

"No; not to set anything on. It took up the whole centre of the table.
Round the edge of this looking-glass, all round, was a border or little
fence of solid silver, about six or eight inches high; of beautiful
wrought open-work; and just within this silver fence, at intervals,
stood most exquisite little white marble statues, about a foot and a
half high. There must have been a dozen of them; and anything more
beautiful than the whole thing was, you cannot imagine."

"I should think they'd have been awfully in the way," remarked Charity.

"Not at all; there was room enough all round outside for the plates and
glasses."

"The looking-glass, I suppose, was for the pretty ladies to see
themselves in!"

"Quite mistaken, uncle Tim; one could not see the reflection of
oneself; only bits of one's opposite neighbours; little flashes of
colou