plates of cold turkey and chicken salad.
This pretty fancy work was carried on in the front basement or
housekeeper's room, while a bustle of preparation gave promise of great
things from the kitchen. Clorinda, the moving spirit of all this
commotion, rushed from basement to kitchen, and then to pantry and
store-room, in a state of exhilaration that set fresh currents of air in
circulation wherever she went. This was the great day of the faithful
servant's life, and she felt its importance in every cord of her heart.

"Now," she called out, addressing Victoria with a pompous lift of the
head, "yer can come up stairs and help about thar. Them roseys ain't so
bad but that I've seen wuss; but there's 'nuff of 'em, so cum 'long o'
me, and shut up de draw'n'-room winder-blinds."

Victoria ran up stairs, two steps at a leap, and, in a breath, was
shutting out the beautiful sunset, and quenching a thousand flashes of
arrowy rays that scattered gold over the plate-glass.

"Now," said Clorinda, as the last shutter was closed, "yer can take the
spy-glass and see if any pusson is comin' up from the pint."

Victoria was only too glad. She sprang across the tessellated pavement
of the hall, and seizing the glass, swept the shore with a slow movement
of her slender person from right to left.

"Nary a pusson coming," she said, laying down the glass, with a
disappointed air.

"Don't talk," snapped Clorinda, snatching up the glass and levelling it
fiercely at the ocean. "Jes like yer, now--can't see yer hand afore yer
face. There's a boat put inter the cove whilst yer was looken, and here
am Caleb Benson."

"So thar am," cried Victoria, snatching the glass, "acomin' full split
across the medder. Now for it!"

The lithe limbed mulatto gave a hop on to the portico, and another bound
to the soft grass of the lawn, whence she ran, like a deer, to meet our
sea-loving friend, with the high shoulders, who was crossing towards the
house at a far brisker pace than was usual to him.

"Hav yer give the instergations?" cried Victoria, out of breath with
swift running. "Am the folks a coming to our party?"

Caleb looked wonderfully grave, and attempted to shake his head; but Vic
saw, by the gleam in his eyes, that it was all pretence, and clapping
her hands like a little gypsy as she was, dashed into a break-down on
the grass, calling out, "Hi, dic-a-dory, I told yer so--I told yer so!"

"Well, what am all dis muss 'bout?" exclaimed Clor