Never had Rindy Crump’s old house witnessed such gayety as it did that evening. Every one seemed bound to give the hostess a good time. Jeremy Todd brought his ’cello, Dr. Rowe contributed his stock of funny stories, and Barry Hale did some imitations which convulsed every one. The surprise of the evening was when Ellen picked up Jeremy’s violin. He had left it with her earlier in the day, and he now accompanied her on the ’cello as she played a lively gavotte. She looked very charming as she stood in her simple white frock, with the violin tucked under her chin, and she had at least one adorer in Caro, who watched her ecstatically.

After the applause had died away Caro rushed forward. “Oh, Ellen,” she cried, “you never told me you could play the violin. How accomplished you are.”

Ellen laughed. “If you were but aware how little I do know, you would never call me accomplished. I knew a very little to begin with, and, as I have no violin of my own, I have had no chance to practise, but Mr. Todd has been good enough to instruct me in this one piece and has lent me his violin so I could do it.”

“Nevertheless it was a very creditable performance,” said the rector, coming up, “and has certainly added to the pleasure of the evening. Your party is a big success.”

Ellen felt that so far it was, but the refreshments were yet to be served, and she could not be quite happy till she was sure that these were all right. Time was passing, and it now was the hour when she must look to matters in the kitchen. Miss Rindy had promised not to interfere, so Ellen felt the entire responsibility, and was anxious. Suppose salt were to get into the ice-cream, or a bat had fallen into the punch! She voiced her fears to Caro as they left the front room together.

“You certainly have a lively imagination,” declared Caro. “I might have thought of the salt, but I never could have thought of the bat. Do you want me to serve the punch or just pass around things?”

“Mrs. Hale says she will serve the punch, so you and Sally can pass around. Mrs. Todd is going to help me with the ice-cream, and Lucilena is going to wash up the glasses and things.”

“I think you have managed everything wonderfully.”

“Don’t give me the credit; it is chiefly due to the neighbors, who have been so kind and helpful.”

Mrs. Todd and Mrs. Hale both had followed the girls into the kitchen. Lucilena had arrived, reporting that she had left Billy sound asleep.

“I’ll cut the cake,” offered Mrs. Todd, “while you attend to the ice-cream, Marietta. The punch is all ready, isn’t it? Lucilena can carry it in, can’t she?”

“Yes, indeed she can, and then she can open the freezer.”

“Oh, and please don’t let her get salt in it,” begged Ellen.

Mrs. Hale laughed. “I can promise she won’t do that; she has opened too many freezers to make a mistake.”

Ellen stood by, anxiously watching the process as Lucilena removed the ice, carefully wiping the top of the freezer before taking it off. Ellen peered interestedly in at the contents. “It looks mighty good,” she remarked.

“It bleedged to be,” responded Lucilena, picking up a spoon and deftly whipping off a taste which she put into her capacious mouth. “Jes’ sample it to see if all right,” she explained. But immediately her expression changed. “Law, Miss Mar’etta,” she cried, “it got no mo’ flavah dan nothin’ ’tall. I done fergits to put in dat bernilla. What we do ’bout it?”

“O dear!” exclaimed Ellen in distress.

Both Mrs. Hale and Mrs. Todd came over to see if Lucilena were really right about it. “It is as flat as can be; I am so sorry,” said Mrs. Hale after critically trying a spoonful. “I don’t know what we can do about it; I suppose we shall have to serve it just as it is.”

Ellen looked ready to cry. After all her efforts, to have such a thing happen was too much. Lucilena stood, arms akimbo, head one side, looking down at the freezer as if she expected a genie to appear and set things right. Ellen, with clasped hands, gazed pleadingly at Mrs. Todd, who looked aloft as she spatted her hands together thoughtfully. Mrs. Hale shook her head mournfully at Lucilena.

Presently Mrs. Todd thought of the remedy. “Put the cover back on the freezer, Lucilena,” she ordered. “We can serve it with chocolate sauce and no one will know the difference. It won’t take long to make it. I’ll run over home and get the chocolate; I have plenty.” She hurried off.

Ellen breathed a sigh of relief. This was a way out, but again came a difficulty when Caro said: “But every one doesn’t like chocolate sauce. I know my father doesn’t.”

“Oh!” Ellen again clasped her hands in dismay.

But here Mrs. Hale, inspired by Mrs. Todd, came to the rescue. “Don’t worry, Ellen,” she said; “we can have strawberry sauce, too, for those that don’t care for the chocolate. Run over, Lucilena, and get that box of strawberries out of the refrigerator.”

“Oh, but I don’t like to take your strawberries,” protested Ellen.

“It’s up to me to do what I can to correct the mistake,” declared Mrs. Hale. “We can have some other kind of fruit for breakfast as well as not. For my own part I’ll enjoy the berries much more with the ice-cream.”

Mrs. Todd was back in no time with the chocolate, and following her came Lucilena, the box of berries in one hand, and sleepy Billy slung over her shoulder. “He jes’ cryin’ pitably,” she explained, “t’arin’ his mouf open an’ yellin’, ‘Daddy, Daddy! dey ain’t nobody here to tek keer o’ me but angels, and it’s too dark to see ’em.’”

“The little dear,” murmured Ellen, as she carried the child to his mother, who cuddled and comforted him, though, with so many to take care of him, he was soon broad awake and clamoring for ice-cream.

While Mrs. Todd was busy making the chocolate sauce the girls prepared the strawberries, and before long everything was ready, the delay being scarcely noticed by the guests. Then the girls scurried to the front with plates and doilies, these last borrowed from Mrs. Hale, and the ice-cream was served, praised, and consumed without the least suspicion that in its original form it lacked flavor. Most of the cakes were delicious, though, to her mortification, Miss Sophia Bennett’s was found to be “sad,” and was set aside. Nobody missed it, however, for there was an abundance without it.

After all, Lucilena didn’t wash the dishes. She had her fill of the refreshments, gave Billy more than was good for him, then sat down and rocked him to sleep, crooning over him, and once in a while taking a dip from the saucer of ice-cream which she kept by her side. At last, becoming sleepy herself, without further concern she bore Billy off to his home, put him, sound asleep, in his crib, and went to bed without a qualm of conscience.

So to the girls fell the task of washing the dishes, but they made so merry over it that it brought from the front room the last lingering guests, Doctor and Mrs. Rowe, waiting for their daughter; the Hales, who were to take home some of the “borrowings”; and the Todds, who wanted to talk over matters with the rest.

Dr. Rowe was the first to open the kitchen door and peep in. “Here, here, what’s all this fun about?” he exclaimed. “Let me in on it, can’t you?”

“Not unless you share the work,” said his daughter saucily.

“Glad to do it. Do I wear an apron? Am I to wash or wipe?”

“Neither,” Ellen told him. “We are in the thick of it, and may as well finish. Are you willing to make yourself useful in any old way?”

“You have but to command me.”

“Then you can sort out those punch glasses and put them carefully in that basket; they go back to the Hales, that is, all those with the wall of Tyre decoration; the others belong to Mrs. Todd.”

“Be sure you don’t break any, Daddy,” sang out Caro. “You know what to expect from Mrs. Todd, if you do.”

“I’m not in the least afraid of Bessie Todd,” the doctor declared emphatically. “I’ve ordered her about too many times in the past not to expect her to stand in awe of me.”

“What’s that about Bessie Todd?” asked that person appearing at the door.

“I said I wasn’t afraid of you, but that I expected you to be afraid of me,” retorted the doctor.

“That day has passed,” replied Mrs. Todd.

“Better not be too sure. Wait till you get down with an illness and see if you dare disobey my orders. I wish you’d come here and finish this job. You know better than I do which of these glasses belong in your cupboard.”

Mrs. Todd was not unwilling, and the doctor turned to Ellen, saying: “I have an understudy. What shall I do now?”

Ellen surveyed the room. “You see that cake over there. You can eat what you can of it, and I will see what can be done with the rest.”

“That cake? I’d as soon swallow a bullet. Do you want me to die of acute indigestion? It’s as heavy as lead, girl. Throw it away.”

Mrs. Todd left the glasses and came over to regard the cake critically. “It is rather heavy,” she commented, “but the edges might be used in cabinet pudding.”

“Then please take it and make the pudding,” cried the doctor, “but I will not be responsible for your death or Jeremy’s. If I have a hurry call from you to-morrow night, I shall know what remedies to bring.”

Mrs. Todd laughed. “I was going to invite you to dinner, but now I shall not.”

“Good thing, too. Here, give me that broom, Ellen. I’ll sweep up.”

With the many hands at work the kitchen was soon in fair order, the last goodnights were said, and Ellen was left alone with her cousin.

“We haven’t gone very far along with the kisses,” she said. “At this rate we’ll never get to the forty-sixth.” She put her arms around Miss Rindy and kissed her. “How did you like your party? How do you feel now that it is over?”

“I feel ten years younger, though I’m wondering what the tongues will say when they go clacking to-morrow.”

“What could they say?”

“They could say vanity, extravagance, foolishness. Why couldn’t they spend their money on something sensible when they have so little of it? Why did old Rindy Crump doll herself up like a sixteen-year-old? Hadn’t she any better sense?”

“Now, Cousin Rindy!” Ellen was really hurt. “I don’t see why you should be so suspicious. I don’t believe there was a person here who would say or even think such things.”

“Well, maybe not. The fact of the matter is, Ellen, that I have enjoyed myself so greatly that I feel sort of queer about it, as if I hadn’t any right to. I told you that I had never had a party in all my life, but I didn’t tell you that it was something I always longed for but never felt that I should afford. But when you took the matter into your own hands I was weak enough not to protest overmuch.”

“You dear thing,” said Ellen, giving her a close hug. “If you could have heard how everybody rejoiced when I told them you were to have a party, you could never think they disapproved. I never saw more enthusiasm, nor such kind friends.”

“What about Sophy Bennett and Bessie Todd?”

“Poor Miss Bennett came out into the kitchen to see her cake cut, and was so mortified because it was so heavy no one could think of eating it. I felt really sorry for her. As for Mrs. Todd, well, things might have fallen flatter than the cake if she hadn’t come to the rescue.” Then Ellen told of the ice-cream episode, ending up with: “And no one was the wiser. Indeed I think the two kinds of sauce were a great addition.”

“I think so myself. Wasn’t it just like that trifling Lucilena to leave out something? It’s a mercy it wasn’t sugar. I suppose she was of some use, however.”

Ellen laughed. “I can’t remember that she did anything but take the ice out of the freezer and go after the strawberries. But, no matter, we all pitched in, washed up the dishes, and had a lot of fun over it.”

“I feel sort of condemned to have stood back and let you have the entire responsibility as well as the work.”

“But you promised, you know; besides, this was your day, and——” Ellen paused, then she said with a little laugh, “I don’t believe that all these good people would have been so ready to contribute and to help you if I hadn’t asked them, because, dear Lady Orinda, you are a bit stand-offish, and are so proud and haughty that you won’t let any one do things for you if you can avoid it, while I am such a young and humble little ‘creetur’ that I appeal.”

“Humble, are you? I haven’t seen much humility, though I admit you are young.”

“But I’m growing older every minute. Just think, it won’t be long before I am sixteen, and then what?”

“That’s what I’ve been thinking,” Miss Rindy sighed. “If you are going to make music your profession, you should have better opportunities than this little town affords. You’ll never get anywhere living always in this poky place. Jeremy says there isn’t a doubt but you could make your way in the city, and it is there you should go to study.”

“Don’t let’s cross that bridge yet. Who knows what may happen? It will be a long time before I have learned all Mr. Todd can teach me; meanwhile I am learning lots of other things, and am growing fonder and fonder of the place, the people, and my own home.”

Miss Rindy took her by the shoulders and looked her straight in the eyes. “Then you aren’t unhappy, Ellen. You are satisfied to be with me.”

Ellen took the two hands laid on her shoulders and kissed first one and then the other. “Dear Cousin Rindy,” she said, “I don’t know what I should have done without you. Of course I was very unhappy at first, while it was all so strange, and the time had been so short since I had lost my dear ones. I would have been unhappy anywhere and with any one, but think what it is to have you, and Jeremy Todd, and Caro, not to mention all the other dear people. I have had to get used to the different way of looking at things, the different standards, but it doesn’t matter a particle now when they call me red-head, and think buttonhole mouths and wasp waists and——”

“High foreheads,” put in Miss Rindy.

“Yes, it was hard to think that all those old-fashioned standards of beauty were the correct ones. I was sort of bewildered at first, because I had lived with artists who don’t admire such things, but now I don’t care, and there is no one in the world who is as much to me as you are.”

“That is a satisfaction to me. Well, Ellen, I reckon we’ll hit it off pretty well as long as we are destined to live together. When the time comes to separate, as it must some day, neither of us will feel like chuckling,” which was as near as Miss Rindy could come to expressing her real affection. “Come along, now,” she added, changing the subject abruptly, “it is long past bedtime; we won’t want to get up in the morning.”

They went up to their rooms. The scent of roses and honeysuckle was wafted into their windows. Ellen went to hers and knelt down to look up at the quiet stars. “Dear Mother, dear Father,” she murmured, “I hope that you can see me, and that you know how good a home I have. It will comfort you to know.”

Then suddenly upon the balmy air of the June night came the sound of music near, very near. Jeremy Todd was playing on his violin directly under the windows. Ellen ran to her cousin’s room. “Cousin Rindy, Cousin Rindy,” she whispered, “do you hear? It is Mr. Todd, and he is serenading you.”

“Now isn’t that just like Jeremy Todd to do a sentimental thing like that? The end of a perfect day, I suppose he’d call it.”

“But isn’t that just what it is?” said Ellen.

“Well, yes, I suppose it is; it’s the end, anyway.” She did not object, however, to kneeling down with Ellen by the open window into which the light from a half moon streamed.

“Isn’t it lovely?” sighed Ellen, as Jeremy, with a high, fine, long-drawn note, finished what he was playing. Then he began the air of one of the Schumann songs. Ellen leaned out to toss a rose to the serenader. “Troubadour, troubadour,” she called, “I’m coming down.”

“Why in the world do you want to do that?” inquired Miss Rindy.

“I’ll show you when I get down there. Now please do stay just where you are. I won’t be gone very long. Please stay, Cousin Rindy.” And Miss Rindy stayed.

Ellen ran out upon the moonlit grass plot where intricate shadows were swaying. She said something in a low tone to Jeremy, and he tuned his violin anew. Then upon the quiet night arose Ellen’s sweet, fresh voice in the song her mother loved, Schumann’s “Moonlight.”

“That was well done,” said Mr. Todd as the last note died away. “When you are a little older, your voice should be cultivated, Ellen.”

Ellen shook her head. “We can’t talk about that now. I think Cousin Rindy has had a perfectly fine birthday, don’t you, Mr. Todd? And it was so dear of you to finish it up with the lovely music, like a good-night blessing, wasn’t it? I am sure Cousin Rindy enjoyed it, though she may not say so, and I’m not quite sure that she would understand ‘Moonlight.’ I felt that I must sing it—for Mother. On this lovely night she seems so near.”

“I think she is,” responded Mr. Todd. “The music was for you, Ellen, as much as for Miss Rindy.”

“I knew that as soon as you began. I must go in. Cousin Rindy will think I am crazy to stay out so long. Good-night, and thank you, thank you, thank you for the serenade.”

She ran in to find Miss Rindy had arisen from her knees and was taking down her hair and preparing for bed.

“Did you ever have a serenade before?” asked Ellen. “How did you like it?”

“Oh, pretty well. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard Jeremy scraping on his fiddle. You’ve got a right pretty voice, Ellen, but I can’t say there was much tune to the thing you sang. What was it?”

“It is called ‘Moonlight,’ and this seemed just the time to sing it. Mother loved it. I thought she’d like me to sing it for you on your birthday.”

“Maybe so, maybe so. Well, Ellen, it’s high time you were in bed. Trot along.” Then she took the girl in her arms and gave her a warm kiss, a most unusual thing for Rindy Crump to do.