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Rh a decided innovation in the town, was duly cranked up by the twinkling host—and the fun was on.

Very oddly-assorted couples two-stepped and—that is those of them that could—waltzed on the floor, for the Schaufflers, well-bred people in the best sense of that term, had veritably thrown open their doors. Neither purse nor family-tree determined the invitations ; all who were wholesome and spiritually sound, in short "real folks," had been bidden to the feast.

Ben Stout, the driver of the famous horse-car, furnished the low comedy, while Mr. Mather, the gold-spectacled principal of the school, essayed the high, each "monkeyshine" and quip being impartially rewarded with many-keyed laughter, although the latter's classical allusions were seldom understood. And Phil gracefully steered Sally among the bouncing couples in the second dance, which he claimed, while Lizzie Rountree, the tiny little milliner with the round eyes and crab-apple cheeks, hopped happily with good old Dr. Ferguson; Don, the poorly-dressed son of the widow Wiggins, led Mrs. Schauffler on the floor, she not minding a bit when he ruined her train; Mr. Schauffler's handsome figure escorted the pathetic grey little slip of the widow herself; and He who attended the lowly wedding in Galilee, which some of the well-tailored Pharisees with large bank accounts declared "was so mixed, you know," must have smiled approval that night.

The wholesome fun and colour fed brightly-tinted fancies to the busy shuttle of the girl's brain, though two of darker hue were constantly weaving in and out of the pattern,—the